Vulnera Sanentur
by Maria de Salinas
Summary: Severus Snape is about to become one of the youngest professors ever taken on at Hogwarts, a position he takes with reluctance, and makes the transition from Death Eater to teacher while dealing with his grief. Graihagh Corlett begins Hogwarts with a determination to make it big, and discovers a talent for Potions. What happens next could bring Snape face-to-face with his past.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is mostly finished work of 42 chapters which I plan to update regularly. The POV will alternate each chapter between Severus Snape and the OC, and their stories will be intertwined. I welcome your reviews and questions.

I've decided to rate this M for now, due to some adult themes/content (nothing really graphic or explicit, and nothing underage), but it's not really a darkfic. There will be some fluff and good feels. Eventual Mentor!Snape and Snape &OC friendship (it's sort of a slow build).

* * *

Snape was standing in front of the fire beside the Dark Lord. He'd been nervous the first time he'd been allowed him to speak to him in this informal way, thinking perhaps the Dark Lord was being insincere, attempting to trap him. Now he'd become used to it and stood with his hands at his sides, at ease.

The Dark Lord turned from the fire to face him. "Well, Severus? You have news for me?"

Snape looked into his eyes. "My Lord, I have accepted a teaching post at Hogwarts School."

There was a pause and the corners of the Dark Lord's mouth lifted very slightly. "I must confess I was beginning to think it unlikely he would ever trust you enough," he said. "It seems I have overestimated the old fool. You played on his weaknessess, I suppose?"

"Indeed my Lord. I told him of my most sincere remorse, of my deepest concern for the boy and his mother." Snape imagined he was talking about someone else, someone he cared nothing about, and made himself smirk as though it were all some joke, and the Dark Lord returned his amused gaze. Snape was sick inside but didn't show it.

"You have done well, very well."

"My Lord knows that I seek only to serve him." Snape knelt and turned to leave. He had barely eaten or slept for days and his legs were a little weak when he Disapparated.

Most of his clothes and his potion-making supplies had been kept at Malfoy Manor, where he'd been staying, but he Apparated outside his mother's house in Spinner's End to get the rest of his things from his bedroom. Most of his photographs of Lily were there, the ones he didn't keep tucked inside his robes.

His mother was in the sitting room, reading a book. She wasn't much older than fifty, but her face was deeply lined and the hair around her forehead was white. He could see the sharpness of her collarbone along the neckline of her faded Muggle dress. He had been avoiding her. She'd been questioning him about what he was doing and where he was going and he was finding it difficult to come up with explanations.

She looked up when he came in. "Come home finally, Severus?."

Snape tensed. He didn't like to be here, though it was better now that his filthy father was gone. Already there were more books along the shelves than there had been when he was alive.

"Hello mum," he said as he made his way to the sofa. He sat down, running the loose threads through his fingers. "I have some news," he told her. "I'm to start a new job next month."

She spoke slowly, quietly, her voice a bit scratched. "Well, I'm glad to hear you've found steady employment finally. And what exactly does this job involve?"

"I've accepted a teaching post at Hogwarts school." For a long moment his mother didn't say anything, she simply looked at him, and he understood something then of how much the school had meant to her.

"What will you be teaching?" she asked quietly.

"Potions."

"That was always one of my favourite subjects." She spoke quietly, almost tentatively, and perhaps, he thought, with a trace of bitterness. They were quiet then, his mother sitting and staring at the fire. After awhile she stood up. "Well," she said. "I suppose I should get dinner on."

He watched as she made her way to the kitchen, standing over the stove she had stood over so anxiously when he was a child, but she seemed more relaxed now, less hurried. He read while she she made pea and ham soup for them and when it was finished they sat down together at the small table in the kitchen.

"Is Professor Slughorn retiring then?" she asked him.

Snape looked up at her from his soup. "No," he told her. "I'll be taking some of his classes."

She was quiet a moment. "He taught me as well, you know. Said I had a knack for it." He was sure of the bitterness in her voice now. It was startling to think of how many regrets she must have had, and how there was nothing to be done about them. He wasn't sure what to say, and they didn't speak much the rest of the meal.

After they'd finished and she'd washed the pots by hand she went to the sitting room and picked up the book she'd been reading. He summoned one off the shelf for himself they read for awhile, until he clapped at the pain his arm. His mother looked up sharply.  
"Are you alright, Severus?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said absently, setting his book down. He made his way out the door before she could say anything more, and Apparated to Malfoy Manor, to meet the Dark Lord.

His mother was still sitting up when he got back. "Where did you go, in such a hurry?"

"It was-someone needed an antidote," he said. He'd come up with an answer quickly, but he couldn't quite meet her eye, and he had the feeling she didn't believe him.

He made his way up to his room, exhausted. It was dark and reminded him of all those days he spent lying alone the summer after Lily stopped speaking to him. He was too tired to think too much of that now, and to his relief fell asleep immediately.

He stayed with his mother for a month, eating his meals with her, sitting and reading with her in the evenings. He had to hurry off a few more times when his mark burned, but his mother did not ask again where he'd been. He wondered if perhaps she didn't want to know.

Just before the start of term, he carefully packed his photographs of Lily and his books into an old suitcase. When he'd finished packing and came into the living room with his things, his mother was sitting by the fire again. She got up to meet him.

"Good luck, Severus," she told him. He felt her hands close over his. She looked at him as though she wanted to say more. Or perhaps he was the one who did. But after a moment she let go.

"Thank you," he told her. He looked back at her a moment, then left the house.

* * *

Graihagh and her dad were standing on the pavement along Charing Cross Road, looking for a place called, if they'd read it right, The Leaky Cauldron. She couldn't see it anywhere, and might have thought the whole thing a big, elaborate joke, but the stern-looking witch who'd come to her house looked like she never joked about anything.

As she watched all the people walking up and down the pavement she was glad her dad insisted she brush her hair for once and that she was wearing a new blouse. Her dad made something of a contrast to her, with his lighter hair and eyes, softer and a bit rounder where she was all sharp skinny angles. But she liked this about him. Sometimes she would still crawl in his lap like she was five years old.

"Are you sure you've got the directions right, Graihagh?" he asked her.

"I think so," Graihagh replied, looking down at the piece of parchment she was holding. "It says it should be right around here."

She started scanning the street frantically. "Dad! There it is!"

Her dad didn't seem to know what to say, and she could tell he'd been starting to think the whole thing a big joke himself.

The inn looked a lot like how she'd always imagined a magical pub to look. All wood and stone and candlelight and she could see cloaked men smoking pipes and a few women in pointed hats drinking from tankards. For a magical place, it was subdued; people spoke in whispers, or just sat without saying anything.

"Hello. What can I get for you?"

Graihagh just about jumped. A man with a bent back and only a few teeth had approached them from the bar. It must be the barman Professor McGonagall had told them about. Graihagh was curious about him, and about this place, but she was more curious to see Diagon Alley. Professor McGonagall had told them they were in the middle of a war, and she wasn't sure what to expect. She thought of pictures she'd seen of bombed out buildings and rubble.

"We're looking for Diagon Alley," she piped up.

He beckoned them into a little courtyard and took out what looked like a pointed stick. "See this brick here? Just give it a little tap with the wand and..."

A hole had appeared in the wall. The hole grew bigger before their eyes before turning into an archway with a long crooked street just beyond. Graihagh and her dad didn't even try to hide their shock as they stepped through, mouths hanging open like characters in a poorly acted children's programme she'd seen once.

Dozens of stone and wooden shops stood along the street. Some were boarded up or had broken windows, but some were draped with flowers and vines, and had windows full of cauldrons and owls and telescopes and beautiful orbs and golden instruments she'd never seen before. There was some interesting new thing everywhere she looked, and thought she must've been a funny sight with her head constantly swivelling in all directions. She was looking everwhere but right in front of her, and suddenly she hit something soft. Or someone.

"Oops," she said in a rush, "I'm..." but the words sort of wandered feebly away as she looked up at a young man with long black hair that covered part of his face. He was staring down at her with his dark eyes narrowed, his mouth in a sneer. He said nothing, which was almost worse than if he' d shouted at her to watch where she was going.

He let the moment drag on a few more unbearable seconds before saying very coldly, "I would watch where I was going if I were you." He looked like he'd just spent the last ten years in a dark bedroom listening to Bauhaus and drinking out of a skull, like her cousin in London.

As she replayed the encounter in her mind and thought of all the nasty comebacks she wished she'd used, she noticed that everyone seemed to be in a hurry. The tense and anxious faces made an odd contrast to the whimsical surroundings. A man in a long black cloak leered at them as they passed, and a woman was drawing the curtains around her shop and taking the signs down.

By the time she was finished with her shopping, she had a wand, robes, a cauldron, and a stack of interesting-looking books. She liked the owls, but had passed on getting one because she'd decided to bring her old cat Scooter with her. Most of the shopowners were nice to her, even though she looked sort of uncertain and out of place. At Flourish and Blotts she'd knocked down a display of books but a wizard had simply flicked his wand and the had books re-stacked themselves almost instantly. Graihagh hoped that spell would someday spare her a lot of tidying up.

She was slurping a large chocolate and peanut butter ice-cream cone outside Florean Fortescue's, watching a small, skinny boy who walking alongside an important-looking man in flowing robes, when she heard shouting. She turned her head and saw a man with long white hair staggering across the stones, face red and tight.

"Can you hear it?" He'd stopped and was turning to stare at everyone, eyes wild. Everyone around was silent."Can't your hear that?" He thrust a finger in the air as if scolding them. "The ground!" he shouted. "The ground is crying out with their blood!"

Graihagh just stood there and stared. She'd seen a few weird people back in Douglas, but never anyone quite this barmy.

Two people in matching robes had run up to him. One pointed his wand and he slumped into the other's arms and they pulled him away. She felt a light touch on her arm, and she started walking alongside her dad, still turning her head to stare. As they made their way back to Muggle London, Graihagh was beginning to wonder just what kind of world she was entering into.


	2. Chapter 2

When Snape had first come to Hogwarts the sight of the castle was the sight of home to him, and coming through the gates with the winged boars like stepping over the threshold. But now as he walked into the Entrance Hall it was as though he were in his final year again, and the sight and smell of the damp stones made him remember Lily, and how she would not look at him in their classes, and how she'd walked through the corridors laughing alongside Potter, clutching his arm, and his steps were heavy.

He was still nobody here, just as he'd been then. Among the Death Eaters he had been liked, respected, known for his skill. Now he was nothing but a former student come back to serve as a lowly assistant to Slughorn. The Defense Against the Dark Arts post had been wide open before the start of the term and he'd been passed up for it, which made it even more humiliating.

Dumbledore had appeared on the marble staircase. "Welcome, Severus," he said, his face serious. He extended his hand and Snape shook it.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Snape said quietly. He realized how very tall Dumbledore was compared to himself, and the old man's power was something palpable.

"So," Dumbledore said, "You begin your teaching career."

Snape just stood there rather stupidly as the impact of these words hit him. Just a few days before he'd been standing in front of the fire with the Dark Lord giving him advice and feeding him information-incomplete information, to be sure, but just the same, it was nothing like teaching.

Perhaps Dumbledore sensed what he was thinking. "Do you have any questions for me, Severus?"

Snape had a thousand questions, not the least of which was how he was supposed to teach the complex art of potion-making to a lot of thick-headed teenagers. "No, Headmaster," he said. Dumbledore nodded, and Snape thought he looked slightly amused for a moment, but perhaps he'd imagined it.

"Filch," he said, "Would you be so kind as to show Professor Snape to his room?"

The dungeons were where he felt most comfortable, and he'd chosen for his office a room along the dungeon corridor, near the Potions classrooms. The caretaker took his suitcase and led him to his bedroom, which was just beyond. It was simple, but it was his own at least, the first place he would ever live on his own. Once Filch had left he got a small fire going and closed the curtains over the windows. He opened his suitcase and with a few more flicks of the wand set books along the shelves, conjuring another bookcase when the first one got full. He put his few clothes in the wardrobe and sat down on the bed, which had a thick gray duvet. He pulled out a few photographs in silver frames.

His few photographs of Lily were Muggle photographs, taken by her parents during the summers they spent together. They were in colour, but they didn't move, didn't show how she threw her head back when she laughed, or the way her mouth twitched when she was about to smile, or the liveliness of her eyes. He hated the way he looked in them, with his ridiculous Muggle clothes and his stiff pose. He wondered, if he hadn't looked like that, if it would have been different. Sometimes he thought of ripping himself out of them.

He changed into his nightclothes and thought of her with all his powers of concentration, as if his thoughts could be transmitted to her somehow, and she would know he was thinking of her. He supposed she did not know that he had turned spy in order to protect her, and desperately hoped that she would find out and it would be enough for her to forgive him. If he had known, if he'd had any idea, what the damned prophecy had really meant he wouldn't have told the bastard a thing, he would have just gone over to Dumbledore and let the boy kill him.

But she would survive, he was sure of it, and the prophecy wouldn't matter. She would see Potter for the arrogant swine he always was, and they'd be together. As he fell asleep he imagined how it would feel when she was lying in his arms.

But his sleep was unsettled. He dreamt he was wandering the corridors with Avery and Mulciber the way they used to do, only the corridors were dark and kept going on and on without leading anywhere.

Graihagh and her dad had arrived at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters early, not sure they'd be able to find the place. She stood beside him picking at her fingernails and watching the families who'd started to arrive. She supposed some of them must be wizarding families, because the parents wore robes.

"Behave yourself now. I don't want to hear from the Headmaster," her dad told her as the train pulled in.

"I will." She reckoned she would try to, at least.

He loaded her trunk onto the train. "Have a good term, sweetheart," he said, pulling her into a tight hug and clapping her on the back. "I love you."

"Love you too dad," she said as he let her go.

"See you at Christmas," he said. Graihagh nodded and gave him a quick smile before stepping onto the train.

It was beautiful, this train, but she tensed up a little as she walked down the corridor. Most of the compartments were full and a lot of the students seemed to know each other already. As she peered inside one of the compartments a girl sitting inside smirked and looked her up and down, and Graihagh sneered back at her before looking down and realizing her t-shirt was all wrinkled and there was a stain on it. Face hot, she ducked into the nearest empty compartment and sat down, scratching Scooter under the chin.

She was starting to wonder how she'd ever keep up with the rest of them. They probably knew all kinds of spells and things she'd never even heard of, and now they were off to a wizarding school. She hadn't even done all that great in her Muggle school, except sometimes in science. Lazy, her teachers called her, because she doodled in class and handed in her homework late, but it wasn't her fault they were dull.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" came a voice from the doorway. Graihagh looked up to see a girl with a heavily freckled face and frizzy brown hair jumping out of her ponytail.

"Sure," Graihagh told her. She burst in and sat down with an almost manic intensity and Graihagh fervently hoped she was normal and that this wasn't turning into the reject's compartment.

"Do you come from a wizarding family?" she asked, leaning forwards on her seat a little and looking like she couldn't wait to hear the answer.

"No, my dad's a Muggle," said Graihagh.

Cate was grinning and talking a mile a minute. "Mine too. I couldn't believe it when I found out me name was down for a school of magic. Mum and dad didn't want me to come, you know, but I talked them into it. So did you always know you could do magic?"

"Well, when I was little I could make water turn all kinds of colours by putting leaves and things in it. And once I made a grasshopper grow really big."

"I could make the turntable and the radio play whenever I wanted some music. And I could make toffees fly right to me. Drove mum mad, she couldn't figure out how I was getting them." She paused for about a second to take a breath, then proceeded to spend the next twenty minute or so going on and on about every weird thing that had ever happened to her. Graihagh started gazing out the window, hoping she would get the hint. She didn't. She hadn't even told Graihagh her name. Motormouth, that's what Graihagh would call her.

"Oh, I've never told you my name," she went on. "I'm Cate."

"I'm Graihagh."

"Oh, I've never heard that name before, where are you from?" she asked. She was still leaning on the edge of her seat.

"The Isle of Man," said Graihagh.

"Oh, that's not too far from me then, I'm from Manchester." And she spent the next half an hour or so telling Graihagh all about it.

Graihagh was relieved when, after awhile, there was a knock on the compartment door and a witch stood in front of them with a trolley full of sweets. Graihagh didn't see any familiar names, but she figured they were all made of sugar anyway and bound to be good. She bought a few and sat down. Cate had bought so many she needed both arms to carry them and immediately started stuffing her face.

"Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans!" she heard Cate say. "So when they say every flavour, do they mean it?" She answered her own question by popping some in her mouth."

"Pickled herring!" she said. "I wonder if there are mouldy bread flavoured ones. Or freezer-burned sausage rolls. I had some last night, they were well nasty." She popped another one into her mouth and started exclaiming over the flavours again. Graihagh just sat there and stared out the window.

She was picking at her nails again, worrying. She glanced at Cate, who was ripping open Chocolate Frogs and had chocolate around her mouth. Graihagh reckoned she could tell her. The girl probably wasn't judging anybody.

"Are you...I mean, do you ever worry?" she asked. "That we might have trouble? Seeing as how we're from the Muggle world and everything?"

Cate looked back at her, and Graihagh noticed something. Her eyes didn't hide anything, weren't measuring her up, the way some people's did. They were warm.

"I've been worrying about that ever since I got the letter," she said. "But we can always help each other out, right?"

"Yeah," Graihagh said. She unwrapped a Chocolate Frog and took a bite. "They got pretty good sweets anyway," she said through a mouthful.

"Did you see the card ?" Cate's mouth was actually open a little and Graihagh saw why when she pulled hers out. There was a picture of a witch in with blue hair and she looking up at her and adjusting her glasses.

"Well," Graihagh told her, "I don't reckon we'll be bored, anyway."

"We sure won't," Cate said. Then she turned serious. "I'll tell you what I'm a bit afraid of," she said, leaning forwards towards Graihagh. "This war that's going on. Mum and dad were so scared they didn't want me to come, but Professor McGonagall-she came to our house, you know-she said that Hogwarts is the safest place there is."

"That's what she told me and my dad too," Graihagh said. "I bet she's right. And maybe it'll end soon, you never know."

"I hope so," said Cate. The worry on her face softened and she smiled at Graihagh, who smiled back, and didn't really mind all that much that Cate talked her ear off all the way to Hogsmeade Station.


	3. Chapter 3

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, hands pressed together. "Well? What kind of information is Voldemort seeking from you?"

Snape forced himself to suppress a shudder at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. "He wishes me to gather intelligence on the activities of the Order," he replied. He paused and looked at Dumbledore closely. "And on the whereabouts of the boy."

Dumbledore met his gaze, and there was an understanding between them. "Naturally," he said. He was quiet awhile, apparently deep in thought.

"For the time being, I can only tell you what you already know. The Order has been decimated by the recent murders, and we are doing everything we can to recruit new members. As for the Potters-" he paused, his face looking more lined than ever, his eyes tired. "Tell him that they have been placed under heavy magical protection, at a home connected to the Order." He was silent again, thinking.

"Can you...tell me where they are?" Snape asked quietly.

Dumbledore looked at him closely; Snape could scarcely meet his gaze. "I am afraid I cannot," he said slowly. Snape opened his mouth to object, but decided against it and gave a small nod. He would not take any unnecessary risks.

"Have found the identity of the defector?" Dumbledore asked. He asked this every time, and Snape suspected he already knew the answer.

"No," Snape said. He had been throwing all his efforts into it, and it had come to nothing. It was as though Lily was walking blindly along a dark pathway, not knowing she was being watched, and it was unbearable to him.

"Well," Dumbledore said, getting up, "I suppose we had better head to the feast."

The staff was all congregating in a small chamber off the Great Hall for introductions and small talk. He had been keeping to himself and hadn't spoken to them, although Slughorn had dropped in that morning with a syllabus and lesson plans.

"Ah, Severus, my old pupil, youngest Professor ever taken on at Hogwarts, I hear?" he'd said. "Not to worry m'boy, I'll show you how it's done, I'm not exactly new at this, you know."

"I appreciate the offer very much indeed, Professor," he'd replied quietly. In truth he had no clue what he was doing, but he hadn't any intention of telling Slughorn that. He supposed he'd be stuck teaching the first-years.

As he stood there in that chamber any smugness he might have felt at becoming Hogwarts Professor at such a young age was deflated by the awareness of just how much older and more experienced everyone else was, and that nearly all of them were his former teachers.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Snape." He enjoyed the sound of it as he shook McGongall's hand, but her voice was cold and he thought her mouth was thin, the way it looked when she'd disapproved of something someone did in class. He wondered what she knew, or suspected, of his Death Eater activities.

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," he said, trying to keep his voice from betraying his irritation, and likely failing if the beady stare she was giving him was any indication. He was risking his life for all of them now, and the strain of it was exhausting him, and didn't see how his past was relevant. And though he knew her to be a gifted and intelligent witch, he felt a lingering resentment that she had not done more to punish those filthy Marauders.

"So, you've decided to become a teacher," she said coolly. "I must admit that came as rather a surprise." Snape just looked at her, trying not to glare.

"So what did you do before coming to Hogwarts, might I ask?"

Snape had an answer ready. "I was a Potioneer," he said.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, and Snape suspected she knew perfectly well this was a lie. "Were you? Well, I hope you enjoy teaching," she said in a voice that indicated that she hoped he got strangled by Devil's Snare.

He looked around and saw that no one was smiling, or really talking much at all. McGonagall had gone over to Dumbledore and the two were having a whispered conversation together, faces grave. Slughorn clapped him genially on the back, though Snape thought he looked rather pale. He thought some of the staff were shooting him nervous glances. When he walked up to Professors Flitwick and Sprout, they went quiet, which proved in his mind that they'd been talking about him.

Professor Sprout extended a hand."Pleased to see you again, Professor Snape," she said, but she wasn't smiling and let go of his hand rather quickly. Snape had to make a conscious effort not to wipe his hands on his robes after, remembering her affinity for dragon dung fertilizer.

"Welcome, Professor," squeaked Flitwick, though he too, was not smiling, and Snape was struggling to keep his irritation in by this point.

Dumbledore told them it was time, and they made their way to the staff table. It was set slightly above the rest of the Great Hall, and Snape's irritation subsided a little when he took his seat. He rather liked the sense of power it gave him. He could scan the tables at his leisure and if anyone put one toe out of line he had the authority to issue any kind of punishment he saw fit. He took his seat and waited to see what kind of dunderheads he'd be teaching.

* * *

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"

"That must mean us," Graihagh whispered. She walked over to the voice with Cate. There stood the largest man she had ever seen. His wild beard and furry coat made him look like an oversized bear, or pictures she had seen of Bigfoot. She wasn't sure if she was afraid of him or not.

He was leading them to some boats beside a black lake, and Graihagh became a little excited at the sight of it. She loved to play by the sea; the water was like home to her. The night was clear, the Milky Way painted across the sky. Everyone was silent as the boat made its way across the black lake and after awhile the castle came into view, rising above the water like a sea-creature on its hind legs, its twinkling lights like so many strange eyes. She gripped the side of the boat and stared at it.

When they'd disembarked and made their way inside, Graihagh got her first look at the inside of the castle, larger and stranger and better than she could have imagined. When the stern-looking witch who had come to her house led them into the Great Hall, she tried to take it all in. It was a beautiful place. The ceiling was covered in stars.

They lined up in front of the table at the head of the hall, and almost jumped in shock as a patched hat began to sing, but its song sort of gave her the collywobbles. It was more like a warning.

Professor McGonagall began to call out names. When she called, "Bellamy, Catherine," Graihagh watched as Cate made her way to the stool.

"Hufflepuff!" the hat called out. Graihagh thought she might like to be in Hufflepuff too. More names were called, and then she heard hers.

"Corlett, Graihagh." Graihagh was curious and nearly tripped on her robes on her rush to the stool. The hat covered her burning face and the weirdest thing happened. It talked right into her ear.

"Hmm, where to put you..there's a keen mind...plenty of ambition...hmm." Graihagh felt like she was under a very bright spotlight. She wondered if anyone else could hear the hat. Finally-

"Slytherin!" Graihagh wasn't sure what to think of this, but went to join the others.

When "Marchbanks, Theodora" was called, a serious-looking girl with dark hair in a tight bun walked confidently to the stool, back straight. The hat took a long time with her. And then-

"Hufflepuff!"

The girl looked shocked for a moment, then walked to the table with the expression of someone who's just been asked to clean a public lavaratory with their toothbrush and use it after. Graihagh watched as she sat at the Hufflepuff table with her arms crossed. She didn't say a word to anyone.

When "Selwyn, Milo," was called, Graihagh recognized the boy from Diagon Alley. He seemed too small to be eleven. He stepped up to the stool with a twitchy, nervous sort of walk. A few minutes after he put on the hat it called out, "Slytherin!" As he sat down she took a skeet at him. He was quiet, taking everything in.

When all the students had been sorted, the Headmaster, who Graihagh knew was called Dumbledore, stood up, and the hall immediately went silent. Graihagh thought she knew why. Though he looked almost grandfatherly with his long white hair and beard and bright blue eyes, there was a mysterious power about him. He looked very serious.

"Before we begin our feast, I have a few things to say to you." Everyone was still, waiting.

"As you all know, the wizarding world is at war. I know that many of you sitting in this room have lost family members and friends. I wish to remind you that, although we may be living through difficult and dangerous times, our bonds of trust and friendship are a light that can guide us even in our darkest hour. I want you to take this opportunity now, to come together in the spirit of fellowship, to show kindness to one another, regardless of our differences, for it is only then can we find the strength to defeat the evil that is now upon us."

He looked around at then all very seriously a moment, then he sat down.

The plates had filled themselves, but for a few moments the Hall was silent. Slowly, in fits and starts, talk broke out around her and the others began reaching for their food. She listened with interest as some boys discussed Quidditch with the kind of fervour she associated with football. Some of the people sitting around her seemed cheerful, which was reassuring; maybe the war wasn't as bad as it sounded.

They made her way to the common room, which was a dim, eerie sort of green, and the prefect led them to their dormitories. They were comfortable, but Graihagh had trouble going to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **A big thank-you to everyone who's read, reviewed, and favourited this story! And thank you for adding me to the Awesome Snape Stories community!

I've decided to update this story once a week, every Monday. I will let you know if anything changes.

* * *

Snape pulled off his cloak and set on in the back of his chair as he sat down, thinking about Dumbledore's speech as he watched the fire. It seemed like so many meaningless sentiments to him. It would take a great deal more than wishful thinking to bring the Dark Lord down; it would take tremendous cunning and power. Dumbledore was a cunning enough man; ruthless, even, when the situation required it. Snape hoped he would not hesitate to do whatever it took. He needed Lily safe.

As he watched the fire he pulled a bag of Every-Flavour Beans out of his robes. His mother hadn't any extra money to give him the first time he and Lily had ridden the Hogwarts Express, but she had some and insisted on treating him. She hadn't made him feel guilty, she'd wanted to try a bit of everything, and insisted that he did too. Her favourite had been the Fizzing Whizbees because she loved the feeling of floating in the air. He had enjoyed the Every Flavour Beans. He liked that they weren't all sweet, but had all different kinds of flavours, some quite nasty.

When he had finished them he got into bed. He was at least free from the Dark Lord here, under Dumbledore's protection. For the last year he'd had to close his mind to his dread and his terror and it was only now that he was here in the castle that he felt himself beginning to let his guard down a little, though he knew he would have to make regular reports to him, or he might feel the his Mark burning at any moment. Snape still considered Lucius his friend, and he supposed he would see him from time to time as well.

He had not wanted morning to come as quickly as it did, and stayed in bed until the last possible minute. He was dreading teaching. As young as he was, he was certain they would test him, and he could not bear to be made a fool of. He was tense as he made his way to breakfast.

Professor Sprout gave him a brief, unsmiling nod as he sat down, and Flitwick murmured a greeting. Professor McGonagall was polite but her lips were pursed and her eyes were beady. Snape took his seat and glared down at his back bacon, stabbing it with a fork. He was all too aware of the staff members sitting on either side of him, and all the noise from the students, and thought he rather hated everyone at the moment. He finished his breakfast quickly, and as he stood up Slughorn came over and clapped him on the back.

"Come, Severus, I'll show you the classroom," he said. Snape knew his way around the dungeons perfectly well, but he had something of a soft spot for Slughorn for his favouritism towards Lily, though he never would have admitted it to anyone, including the man himself.

It was more or less as he remembered it, a large room with tables and a stone fountain and a cupboard for ingredients. His stomach clenched when he realized that Lily had sat here not all that long ago. He could still see her now, brushing her long hair back from her face as she bent over her desk, cutting and crushing and measuring with such care and precision.

"You remember where everything is, I take it?" Slughorn asked. Snape nodded. "Yes, excellent. Now," Slughorn went on, "it's really not difficult, teaching. I daresay you'll catch on quickly, with a mind like yours." Snape recognized his flattery, and wasn't particularly bothered by it.

"What made you decide to become a teacher, if I might ask?"

Snape looked at him a moment, trying to keep his face from betraying his discomposure. "I...wished to pass along my knowledge and skills to younger generations," he said, trying not to sound sarcastic.

For just a moment Slughorn looked taken aback, as though he hadn't been expecting this, then he quickly recovered himself.

"Well," he said, "You might want to start by introducing yourself to the students, build up a rapport with them, you know. Get to know them, if you can."

But Snape had other concerns. "How do you keep them in line?" he asked.

"Well, now, all it usually takes is knocking off a few house points, or in some cases detention. But you'll catch more Billywigs with honey than with vinegar, as they say." Snape wasn't sure what he was on about there, but he nodded.

"Oh, and Severus," Slughorn added. "Do try to encourage talent, where you can." He gave him a knowing little smile." You can make some useful connections that way, you know." Snape made a murmur of agreement.

Slughorn's tone was as warm and genial as always, and for just a moment Snape thought of asking for more advice, telling him how very overwhelmed he was. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would not do to show weakness.

Slughorn made to leave then, but turned back. "What is it that you did again, before taking up a teaching post?"

Snape was a little startled by this. He supposed Dumbledore hadn't told him. "I was a Potioneer of course," he said smoothly.

"Yes, yes, of course, naturally you would be. Who did you work under, if I might ask?"

"I...worked for myself," Snape said. Slughorn looked at him rather too closely for a moment, and Snape had the feeling he wasn't sure whether to believe him.

"Impressive, Severus," he said, and to Snape's relief, he turned and left. He felt the smallest twinge of something, embarassment maybe, or guilt, but he quickly stifled it.

He thought about what Slughorn had said about introducing himself, and as he walked the room he prepared a short speech in his head, making sure it sounded decent enough, and when he was satisfied with it he looked at the timetable. His first class would contain both Slytherins and Gryffindors and he was quite sure the latter would contain at least one arrogant little beast he'd have to put in detention. And woe betide any of them who fancied stepping into Potter and Black's shoes. He'd have the little bastards thrown out of the school.

He scanned the register. Of course there had to be some ridiculous name he couldn't pronounce, one of those Gaelic-sounding names that was like a mouthful of nonsense. Some of the names he recognized; they were siblings or children of his old friends. There was a Selwyn there; he recognized them as a fine old family Lucius had always spoken most highly of. He would have to favour them, of course, to keep cover, but he didn't think it would prove too difficult.

He saw that it was nearly time, and stood and rested his hands on his desk to collect himself. Only a week ago he had witnessed torture, and now he would be facing children. He didn't know how he was going get through it, but one thing he did know was that they needed to be put them in their place, and quickly. The language of fear and power was the only language he'd ever known how to speak, and that's what he would use. If anyone dared give him any trouble, or tried to make a fool out of him, he would come down on them like a hammer.

* * *

Graihagh was all jittery and nervous when she woke up. As she made her way up to breakfast with the rest of the Slytherins, she spotted Cate practically bouncing up from the basement, chatting nonstop to one the other Hufflepuffs, who looked annoyed. When she saw Graihagh she gave her a wide grin and Graihagh smiled back at her. She wondered if they'd have any classes together, and if Cate would be able to keep quiet for an entire lesson.

A man with a round belly and walrus mustache came around with the timetables then. Graihagh was worried about her lessons, but she liked the idea of making magic potions and she thought it might not be too bad. She made her way to the dungeons with the Slytherins, where there was another group waiting, the Gryffindors, and they were lining up outside the door to the potions classroom when she noticed it was colder here. She started tensing a little. A door opened and a rather cold sounding voice said "Enter."

It was the black-haired young man from Diagon Alley. Graihagh had a bad feeling about this lesson. She disliked him already, and she was still miffed about the way he'd talked to her in Diagon Alley. He was barely out of his teens though, by the looks of it, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

She took a seat next to Milo and gave him a half-smile, and he gave her a small nod. There was some whispering and laughing as people sat down.

"Settle down," he said sharply, glaring around at them all. It got quieter.

"I will now take the register. When I call your name, you are to declare yourself present."

When he reached, "Corlett, Graihagh," she cringed. He had completely mangled her name. She was not about to be known as "Gray-hag."

"It's Gray-ah," she said, an edge to her voice, not really caring if it was polite or not.

The man paused and stared at her a few seconds, and she knew he was very angry. He walked towards her desk and slammed his hands down on either side of it, facing her.

"I don't care how your name is pronounced," he said, in a voice that was both soft and fierce. Graihagh thought she felt a bit of spit hit her face. "You do not speak in my class without raising your hand, do you understand? And furthermore, you will address me as sir or Professor or there will be consequences."

"Yes sir," she said, looking down at her desk. She hoped none of the other Slytherins thought too badly of her for her outburst. She wanted things to be different here.

When he finished taking the register, he faced them all. "My name," he said, "is Professor Snape." He flicked his wand at the blackboard and his name appeared there. "I am here to to teach you the art of potion-making." Graihagh thought his voice sounded stilted, like he was reciting something. "Though you may not realize it due to the lack of foolish wand-waving, it is one of the most complex and difficult form of magic you will study." He paused a moment as if to let this sink in, then narrowed his eyes at them. "Therefore I will not tolerate any misconduct in this class." He stared them all down the way he'd stared down Graihagh in Diagon Alley.

"Now, since I can see that it would be unwise to overtax your minds," he continued, sneering at them all, "we'll start with a simple solution, a cure for boils. I have written the instructions on the blackboard, and the ingredients can be found in the student cupboard. You may begin."

There was some shuffling as people started taking out their scales and mortars, and then a hand went up. It was one of the Slytherins.

"Yes, Mr...?" Snape's voice trailed off and he had to look at something on his desk. "Shafiq?"

"It says here to crush the snake fangs into a fine powder, but how fine should it be, sir?"

Snape just stood there and looked at him and it was obvious he hadn't been expecting questions. "You know the meaning of fine, do you not?" he said, sounding annoyed. "Just crush them and throw them in. There's nothing difficult about it." The boy didn't say anything more and Graihagh made a mental note not to ask Snape any questions, ever.

He started to make his way to his desk when one of the Slytherin girls shrieked and pulled a horned slug off her neck. A boy was laughing behind her and before Graihagh even knew what was happening Snape had whipped around and stood in front of his desk.

"Detention, Mr...whatever your name is."

"It's McCulloch, sir," the boy said, sounding a little nervous.

"I didn't ask you to tell me your name," said Snape. His voice had gotten all soft and menacing again. "Twenty points from Gryffindor." He glared around at them all as if daring them to try anything. They didn't.

It got a lot quieter after that, and Graihagh spent the rest of the lesson in concentration. She was careful to read them over slowly, two or three times, to make sure she got it all right. She loved the realness of it, touching the nettles and quills, smelling the fumes, stirring it just so. She could be lazy with things she didn't care about, like personal hygiene and tidying up after herself, but she had in intense focus towards the things that she did. A contentment settled over her that almost let her block out the man sweeping up and down the room looking down into everyone's cauldrons. He seemed to be stopping more than usual at Graihagh's, trying to find fault with it maybe.

"Well, I can see I shouldn't expect much from you," he told her at one point. But when she'd finished her potion looked just as the book said it should, with it's pink smoke. He complimented Milo, which she didn't mind so much, but she noticed that he made a lot of rude remarks to some of the others, and wondered why on earth he'd become a teacher. She wondered if he'd been part of some sort of wizard Mafia and made too many enemies and had to go into hiding. Anyway, she liked making potions, even if he was the worst teacher she'd ever had. It was the first thing she'd ever really been good at, and she couldn't wait to make more.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N****: **This chapter has some violence and Death Eaters doing extremely messed-up Death Eater things.

* * *

Snape stood at the gates of Hogwarts in his Death Eater robes, his eyes closed. He took deep, steady, rhythmic breaths. He cleared his mind of all thought and emotion, of his worries for Lily, his fears for his own life. Then, finally ready, he vanished.

Lucius met him at the door and they made their way inside. "Professor Snape," he said, smiling. "How do you find teaching?"

Snape saw enough of the absurdity of himself as a teacher that he didn't even need to act, and it was refreshing, voicing his true thoughts on the matter. "Watching simple-minded children make a mess of their potions every day?" he said. "Positively mind-numbing."

"Ah yes, well, I admire your willingness to endure so much drudgery for our cause," said Lucius. "So that fool of a headmaster doesn't suspect a thing?"

"He thinks I am completely reformed." He and Lucius exchanged a smile, and he was struck by how easy this was, how natural.

"Well, you might be in a good position now to start undermining him, don't you think?"

"Perhaps," said Snape, with a note of caution. He hoped Lucius wouldn't push it too hard, but he knew him well enough to know it was a foolish hope.

A baby boy with a tuft of blonde hair came toddling down the hall, closely followed by his mother, Narcissa, whom Snape had always liked.

"Draco is much steadier on his feet now," said Snape.

Narcissa looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, I've had to watch him constantly," she said, sounding positively delighted by it.

The little boy held his arms out to Lucius and Lucius scooped him up and put his arms underneath his legs to carry him sitting up. As the four of them made their way deeper into the manor and Snape greeted his old comrades he couldn't help but feel more comfortable, more at home, than he'd ever been standing in front of students and eating with the staff.

When they got to the dining room Lucius handed Draco to Narcissa and Snape sat down between Bellatrix and Mulciber.

"Severus," said Bellatrix, smiling a little.

"Bellatrix," he replied, with less enthusiasm.

Mulciber clapped him on the back. "Hello, _Professor_," he said, catching his eye and smiling. Snape returned his smile. He had been friends with Mulciber since their first year at Hogwarts, and they had an easy way with each other, as easy as he had with anyone. Mulciber still looked the same as he had at school, tall and gangly with a head of oily hair.

A woman in a Muggle blouse and jeans was sitting beside him. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he could get her out somehow, but he pushed the thought away. What the others did was of little concern to him, as long as Lily was safe.

An elf brought some dishes of food to the table, and they began eating.

"Have you seen my new dress robes, Cissy?" asked Bellatrix, bending over her plate so that half her chest was exposed.

Narcissa picked up her wine glass and looked her up and down. "You might want to get them cut a little lower next time Bella," she said. "There might be an inch or two of skin that's not showing."

Snape caught Narcissa's eye and smiled a little. He knew perfectly well for whom Bellatrix was showing off.

He was just cutting up a piece of pheasant when there was a scream from beside him. He looked up and saw that the woman was sitting straight up in her chair, hands gripping the sides, looking wildly about the room.

"_Imperio_," Mulciber muttered, with a flick of his wand. The woman went quiet, her eyes relaxed. They started to eat again, the conversation light.

Snape finished his pheasant and took a long drink of wine, and was just setting down his goblet when there was another piercing scream. The woman had risen to her feet.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Bellatrix hissed. But the woman kept screaming, and when she spotted the doorway she began to run. Snape could not help but feel a grudging respect for her strength of mind.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and before he understood what was happening Bellatrix was standing up and drawing something out of her robes. She swiped the dagger in the air and the woman slumped to the floor, deep crimson blood pouring out of a gash in her neck.

Snape knew the counter-curse that would save her. His fingers tightened around the wand in the pocket of his robes, but he could do nothing for her. He could only watch her die. Within minutes her skin had turned white and her eyes became empty and blank. Snape had watched the light go out of so many eyes that the sight of it had become almost normal. Yet he could not stop looking at her.

"Severus? Severus!" Snape looked up to see Lucius standing in the doorway. "The Dark Lord wishes to speak with you," he said.

Snape took his hand out of his pocket and stood up. As he made his way to the doorway he saw that Narcissa had buried Draco's head in her chest, clutching his head and covering his ears with her hands. She was glaring at Bellatrix, and though the boy wasn't crying and appeared to have been spared the worst of it, he did not blame her.

He could not get his mind off what had happened. It was uncannily similar to the effects of his own spell. He had to stop outiside the door and take deep breaths to clear his mind properly.

The Dark Lord was pacing by the fire in a dim room when Snape walked over to stand beside him. "Well?" The Dark Lord paused in his pacing to look closely at Snape.

"My Lord," Snape said, keeping his voice calm, even, "the Order has been greatly weakened. They have lost nearly half their number and more are going into hiding. Dumbledore is becoming deeply worried."

There was a pause.

"And yet the boy survives." The silence was menacing, and he let it linger until Snape's heart beat faster.

"I am told they are at the home of someone connected to the Order," Snape said.

The Dark Lord turned to look at the fire again. "You must find out precisely where. Use whatever means you can. The old fool should not be too difficult to manipulate."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I am troubled, Severus," he said softly, still looking into the fire. "He has survived too long already."

Snape could feel his stomach tightening. The Dark Lord was obsessed; he would stop at nothing. He had an image of Lily as a struggling insect, trapped in a web, while a spider waited and watched. He willed himself to relax.

"Indeed, my Lord."

Snape could not finish his meal, and left soon afterwords, his head full of the things he had seen and heard. When he got back to Dumbledore's office, he could not sit down. He was pacing the room in his agitation. Dumbledore was resting his face on his hands, which were pressed together, looking wearier than Snape had ever seen him, which only agitated him further.

"The Dark Lord is obsessed with the boy. He fears he will become a greater threat to him the longer he lives. He wishes me to manipulate you into revealing their hiding place."

"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured, more to himself, it seemed. He was quiet a moment. "I think it is time to place them under a more powerful magical protection. I am speaking of the Fidelius Charm."

Snape stopped in his pacing to look at Dumbledore. This seemed like such an obvious solution he wondered why they had not thought of it before.

"You may tell him I have told you this; that ought to keep him satisfied. Perhaps we can leave a false trail regarding the Secret Keeper. Not myself, of course, or he will expect you to get it out of me. Another Order member, I think. Perhaps Pettigrew." He paused and looked at Snape sharply. "You still have not found the identity of the defector?"

"No."

Snape did not remember falling asleep that night, but he remembered dreaming. He dreamt that he was watching the woman die again, while a little boy watched, but the woman had Lily's eyes. He shot out of bed and paced the room, trying to work out something, anything. He had wild thoughts of going to Malfoy Manor and killing the bastard himself, but he knew it would never work. He went to teach a class the next morning without having slept any more at all.

* * *

Hogwarts was a jarring change. Graihagh still found herself groping for a light switch when she entered a dark room, and she missed her record collection and the sea and flopping in front of the television after school. It was fun to navigate the maze of corridors but she was trying to avoid Peeves, who had taken to hiding behind tapestries and pelting passing students with slugs. But the worst part was all the whispers of You-Know-Who and his followers, which were thick in the air like malevolent ghosts. Just about every week someone would be pulled out of class, and everyone knew why. Graihagh felt sick inside whenever someone showed up at the door and prayed it wouldn't be her they called.

Her classes were alright, although a lot of the things Professor McGonagall was saying went right over her head, and Graihagh had been given her first detention when McGonagall had caught her looking at someone's parchment during a Transfiguration quiz. She loved Potions, especially since Snape had taken to sitting behind his desk and barely seemed aware of what was going on, and she liked the greenhouses with the smell of damp earth and the beautiful plants she'd never seen before. It turned out they had Charms with the Hufflepuffs. Theodora still seemed miffed about her house placement but Graihagh noticed that she answered a lot of questions correctly. For someone who seemed to loathe Hufflepuff, she was earning them a lot of points.

She liked that their common room and dormitories were under the lake, and at night when it was quiet she would listen to the gentle lapping of the water. Sometimes the giant squid would drift by the windows and once she could have sworn she saw a merman chasing after it. She'd been spending a lot of time exploring the castle with Cate, whose constant chatter and tendency to share too many personal things she was starting to get used to, but by the day before Hallowe'en, she had so much schoolwork to do she decided to stay in the common room so she wouldn't be so distracted.

She scanned the room, looking for a place to sit. Her first night there, the prefect had told them that being in Slytherin was like being part of a family, and that was sort of true, a lot of them were nice to her, and they'd started to teach her some of their wizarding customs. People stood closer to each other in the wizarding world, and sometimes she would see them kiss each other on the cheek or hug. Maybe it was because there weren't as many of them, and they had to stick together, she didn't know, but it was nice.

There was also a lot of trust, she noticed, even more than there was back home in Mann. Her second day there, she'd been unpacking her things and had set a music box her granny had given her on top of her nightstand, before changing her mind and putting it into a drawer. Another first-year girl named Livia Travers had seen her.

"You can keep that out," she said. "We're not Muggles, you know. No one's going to steal it." Slowly, not really sure what to make of this, Graihagh had put it back out.

"It's rude to keep your valuables put away," Livia had said.

One night she'd seen two boys holding hands and putting their heads close together, whispering, and she couldn't stop looking at them. A fifth-year sitting nearby had noticed.

"They don't mind us experimenting a bit when we're young," he'd said, smiling a little at her shocked expression. "But when we leave Hogwarts we'll be expected to make good marriages and pop out some little wizards and witches." He glanced over at them. "They'll still be able to see each other on the side though, if they want to," he said. Graihagh wasn't quite sure what he meant.

There were certain students, from old families, who were treated with a bit of deference. They took the best spots by the fire and were the first to queue in line, though she sensed that not everyone was happy with this. Milo was from one of those old families, but he didn't sit by the fire. He sat in a corner of the common room, doing schoolwork or drawing. Sometimes Graihagh would see other boys tripping him in the corridors or knocking him down and she felt bad for him.

Livia was from one of those old families, and sat around with her friend Hyacinth and a couple of other girls and wore the most gorgeous dress robes. Even though Livia had sounded a little annoyed with her the first time they'd spoken, Graihagh couldn't help noticing how pretty she was, with her long wavy hair. She wanted to sit with her but the moment she came near Livia her eyes got all sharp and cold. Graihagh's face grew hot and she decided right then to sneer back at her and tell her to sod off, even if she did very much want to join her, but then thought she heard someone saying her name.

"You can sit with us, if you'd like," said another first-year girl she thought was called Emily. Graihagh gave her a little smile and sat down with her and her friends. She noticed they were working on their Charms essays and thought she'd work on hers to, except that she hadn't started yet and her notes were full of random sketches because she hadn't been paying attention to anything Flitwick was saying.

"Erm, can I have a look at your notes?" she asked Emily.

"I suppose," she said, handing them over.

As Graihagh started copying down her notes, Emily turned to her friends. "Did you lot see Eleanor getting pulled out of Charms today?"

"I thought that was her," said another girl. "Do you know what happened?"

"I think it might've been something to do with her dad. He works in Magical Law Enforcement, you know."

Graihagh glanced up and saw that they were all exchanging worried looks. She thought of her own dad and how horrible it would be if something happened to him and she couldn't concentrate enough to finish copying the notes down.

There was a group of seventh-years sitting near them, looking over _The Evening Prophet_. "The Mudbloods are going down like flies," one of them crowed, and his friends all laughed. Over in their spot, Livia and her friends laughed too. Graihagh didn't understand why this was funny to them, and for all she knew, she might be one herself. She didn't know anything about her mum. Her dad liked to pretend she didn't exist and never talked about her.

Graihagh saw Emily throw the others a dark look. "I'll just be glad when this war is over," she said. Graihagh was thinking the same thing.


	6. Chapter 6

After nearly two months, Snape was no more used to teaching than he had been on his first day. He still had trouble putting names to faces, and it was frustrating to him to watch them struggle with concepts that were obvious to him. He didn't see how he could make his instructions any plainer.

After knocking off about fifty points from various houses and issuing twenty detentions those first few weeks, they at least took him seriously, and were mostly silent in class. This was a relief, because he could not seem to focus on anything, and had started spending most of his class time sitting at his desk, thinking about Lily.

The day of Hallowe'en he could not stop worrying over her, and made his way up to Dumbledore's office as soon as his classes were over.

"You've performed the Fidelius Charm?" Snape asked the moment he'd stepped into his office.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. He was standing at the window with his hands behind his back, looking out over the grounds.

"And the Secret-Keeper?"

Dumbledore turned to face him. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you," he said. "But rest assured that it is someone who would never betray them."

Snape stood and looked at him closely, wondering if this meant what he thought it did. "Not Black?" he said. Dumbledore said nothing.

"Tell me it isn't Black."

"I cannot discuss this with you, Severus," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Surely you don't think him trustworthy," said Snape, stepping closer to him. "After everything he's done?" His voice was rising now. "After what he did to me?"

"That will do, Severus," said Dumbledore, so firmly that Snape was silent, but his heart was pounding and his fists were clenched, and he threw the Headmaster an angry look. Dumbledore turned away from him. He stared out the window a long time. Snape wondered if he could feel his eyes burning through his back.

"Well," Dumbledore said finally, "I suppose we ought to head to the feast." He made his way out of the office and Snape followed, his steps forceful and jerky in his irritation.

The stone walls of the Great Hall magnified the hundreds of voices, the laughter, the scraping of benches as people sat down for the Hallowe'en feast. Most of the staff were already there, making idle chit-chat. He didn't really want to go in, but he supposed he had to, and so he took his seat towards the end of the table next to Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, who was chatting with Madam Hooch and fortunately took no notice of him.

But, for what reason he didn't know, the Bloody Baron insisted on taking the empty spot next to him. And what was more the Baron didn't say a word, just sat there and stared at him. Snape stared back at him with his eyes narrowed, but he had no idea how to tell a ghost to leave, so he tried his best to ignore the freezing feeling as he ate.

He was restless, and he didn't know why. Golden plates heaped with ham and mashed turnips and spiced pumpkin bread had appeared on the table, and he picked at his food, eating the turnips quickly. He'd never really liked them, he'd had to eat so many growing up. The pumpkin bread he ate slowly, savouring it. The spices reminded him of the smell of Lily's house at Christmas, when her mother would bake things. As soon as he'd finished the paltry Christmas dinner his mother made he would go over to Lily's house and her mother would make them Cadbury hot chocolate while they sat by the tree and exchanged their gifts.

"Professor Snape?" He was jerked away from his reminiscing by Professor Babbling. She was looking at him and for one moment he thought he was going to try to engage him in conversation and rather dreaded it.

"Could you please pass the salt?" she asked. He passed it down to her with a feeling of relief

He ate his food and took long drinks of pumpkin juice, scanning the house tables now and then. He had some strange feeling of something about to happen, something he couldn't explain, a feeling he sometimes had before his Mark burned. As he lifted his fork the sleeve of his robes fell back, exposing a little of his left forearm. He could have sworn he felt something there, but nothing like the pain of it burning. Something almost imperceptible. He chanced a glance at it.

It had faded.

He half-rose from his chair, then recovered himself and looked over at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was not in his usual place. He looked all around the staff table and saw him at the other end, standing close to Hagrid; they appeared to be talking together, looking serious. After a moment they got up and left the Hall.

He thought of following them, but decided against it. He turned back to his food but he could not settle himself, and after awhile he got up and strode back to his room, pacing in front of the fire. His heart was beating fast and he was filled with a sense of anticipation as the long-buried hopes started to surface. The Dark Lord was dead. It was over. He wondered who had done it. One of the Order, perhaps, or even one of his own Death Eaters. There had been constant whispers of defection and treachery. He'd heard all those whispers, all those hints of the Dark Lord's immortality. But it was nonsense, nothing more than arrogance.

He thought of the boy. But he didn't not see how it was possible; the Fidelius Charm was too strong. Unless Black...but he could not allow himself to think it. The boy was too young to kill the Dark Lord anyway. But Lily might have done it. She was the bravest woman he knew. And if she had managed to kill him, it could only mean that she had survived.

He didn't dare allow his elation to overcome him completely, not until he had word from Dumbledore, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. He was going to see her again, maybe even tomorrow. She would know. Perhaps she would forgive him. He was too restless to settle to sleep, and after lying in his bed awhile he got up and tried to read, but he couldn't concentrate on that either. He got up and changed back into his robes. He thought of seeing Dumbledore, but for some reason he didn't want to.

He was pacing the floor of his room when there was a knock at his door. He opened it to find Professor McGonagall standing there, looking grim. His pulse quickened and he had to stifle the urge to give her his coldest sneer. She had some nerve, showing up at his room at this hour.

"The Headmaster wishes to see you," she said. He said nothing in reply, just walked past her and made his way to the Headmaster's office. The castle was quiet, and he made his way there very slowly. He concentrated on the tapestries and the portraits and the windows, taking in every detail.

When he saw Dumbledore standing there, looking ancient in his exhaustion, every line of his face deepened, he nearly turned around and left the room. But he couldn't, so he stepped forward. It was one of the Order, perhaps. But not her. It could not have been her.

"Severus, please take a seat."

Snape sat down and examined one of Dumbledore's silver instruments. There were puffs of smoke coming out of it. He wondered what it was used for. He'd never bothered to ask.

He felt Dumbledore watching him, and he knew what Dumbledore was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. He gripped the side of his chair.

"Earlier tonight, Voldemort found the Potters."

He wondered why Dumbledore sounded so shaken. She'd gotten away. She must have gotten away.

"It appears that James was killed while attempting to protect them." There was a pause and he thought he felt Dumbledore's eyes on him. "When Voldemort attempted to kill Harry, Lily threw herself in front of him as a shield. I cannot say for certain, but I believe that, as a result of her sacrifice, the Killing Curse then rebounded on Voldemort. It is an ancient magic, a magic of which he knows nothing."

Sacrifice-surely that did not mean-

"How-how do you know this?"

Dumbledore didn't say anything. Snape watched as he pulled something out of his robes. It was a small, circular portrait, no bigger than a coin. A small boy was sitting there. The people holding him had vanished.

"A member of the Order found their bodies," he said.

He wanted to throw himself into her grave and be buried alive. He could not hold himself up, could not hold back what was coming. He slumped forward with his head in his hands.

He didn't know how long he sat there. He could hear the old man's breathing, and his muscles tensed in shock and fury, but his throat was tight and dry and the words were choked. "I thought...you were going...to keep her...safe..."

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore.

Black. Snape would murder him in his bed.

"Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that the Dark Lord would spare her?" Snape could not bear the scorching heat of his own shame, and said nothing.

"Her boy survives," said Dumbledore. Her boy. Her boy survived, but not her. It meant nothing.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evan's eyes, I am sure?"

Snape sat up straighter and glared at him, shouting as though the force of the words could make it go away. "DON'T!" He tried to steady his breathing. "Gone...dead..."

Dumbledore said something, but Snape didn't know what it was. He was seeing her lifeless eyes. He would have given his own life if they could live. "I wish...I wish _I _were dead..."

"And what use would that be to anyone? If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

He did not know what the old man meant. He was not making any sense. There was no way forward. "What-what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son." But the thought was unendurable.

"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone-"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

Snape remembered all those hints, all those whispers and intimations of his immortality. He thought of the boy. Potter's son. He wondered if he was anything like his father. He wanted to throw the thought of him away, run out of this room to someplace he would never have to face him. But he'd never be able to get away from himself.

He thought of Lily, throwing herself in front of her son. Her son, the part of her that still lived. Her blood, in his body, in his still-beating heart. He tried to steady his breathing.

"Very, well, very well," he said. A horrifying thought came to him then, the face of Potter's son looking on him with pity. "But never-never tell Dumbledore! This must be between us!" He looked at Dumbledore fiercely, willing him to understand. "Swear it! I cannot bear...especially Potter's son...I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore looked down at him. "If you insist."

Snape sat there a long time, trying to regain some control over himself. "I think...I will go to bed..." he said. Dumbledore nodded, and Snape made his way to the dungeons, not seeing anything.

When he got back to his room he fell onto his bed and tore at his hair as his body shook with the force of his sobs.

He didn't remember falling asleep. He only remembered dreaming. He was walking down to the riverbank to meet her, and when he got there she was lying on the ground, green eyes lifeless, only her face was the face of a man he'd once slashed during a raid in the West Country. He woke himself up thrashing in his bed and screamed into his pillow.

* * *

The Hallowe'en feast was strange. There were people laughing and talking as they always did, but then there was a girl at the table who was crying silently, and a boy who just stared down at his plate, not seeming to really see it. Graihagh knew then that the war was going very badly, and began to wonder why she'd come there.

When she walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, she wasn't sure what to expect, but she knew something was very different from the night before. Professor Vector was dabbing her face with handkerchief and being hugged by Professor Sprout. Professor Slughorn was toasting Professor Flitwick with on hand and hugging him around the shoulders with the other, his voice booming. Professor Kettleburn was slapping the hook he had for a hand on the back of Madam Hooch, who seemed to be wincing slightly. The Hall was electric with some sort of news. As soon as the Hall had filled with students, Dumbledore stood up.

"If I could have everyone's attention please." The Hall was absolutely silent.

"The wizard calling himself Lord Voldemort has been defeated."

For a second, there was no sound; it was as though nobody really believed it. Then Graihagh's ears were pounded with a joyful roar that seemed to go on and on. People were hugging and crying and shouting, including a lot of the people at her table. She grinned at Emily, who smiled back at her. She caught Milo's eye and he smiled at her too. Even Peeves got in the spirit and zoomed around spraying everyone with Pumpkin Fizz. But after awhile she glanced around and saw that others, including and Livia and her friends, looked stony-faced, almost angry. Professor Snape wasn't there at all, which didn't seem right somehow.

Breakfast went on a long time, with everyone talking and laughing and eating. Some of the students set off fireworks and none of the teachers said a thing about it. Dumbledore led everyone in a rousing chorus of the school song, and Professor Flitwick shot confetti out of his wand.

Classes had been cancelled as a treat and after breakfast was done Graihagh went back to the common room. As she was walking through the dungeons, she passed Snape. He had a hang-dog look and his face was red, like he'd been crying his eyes out. She quickly looked away before he saw her.

Even though most of them had been celebrating in the Great Hall, it was quiet there, people just sitting around doing schoolwork or talking. Emily and her friends were whispering together and kept glancing towards the fire, where a group of students were sitting, looking glum. Graihagh didn't understand it at all, why they'd be so sad about an evil wizard dying. She didn't really understand the war, and what he and his followers had been fighting for.

"What's going on?" she asked Emily, as she sat down at their table. "Why isn't everyone celebrating?"

Emily glanced over at the group by the fire. "Most of their families supported You-Know-Who," she said. "I suppose no one wants to get on their bad side." She lowered her voice. "You know Livia Travers?" Graihagh nodded. "Well, I heard her father just got thrown into Azkaban for murder."

She looked over at Livia, who was staring at the fire with her arms crossed, and a shiver went through her. But there was still something she didn't understand. "Why did they support You-Know-Who, though? Why did they do all those things?"

Emily shrugged. "They wanted to keep magic in the old Pureblood families, I think. They were afraid of Muggles and Muggle-borns taking over or something. I mean, I understand wanting to keep our traditions and everything, but some of the things they've done...anyway, I'm just glad it's over. I don't really want to think about it."

Graihagh glanced over at Livia and the others. She couldn't decide if they were evil or just really stupid, and yet, something about them intrigued her, that they had so much power over everyone in the common room, and she couldn't stop taking glances at them.

Emily and her friends started doing their schoolwork, but Graihagh was too restless. She made her way out of the common room, wondering what it all meant. She wondered if Snape thought the way they did. Maybe he didn't like Muggle-borns either.

She had arranged to meet Cate in their favourite spot, the steps leading down to the Hufflepuff basement, and she didn't have to wait too long before Cate practically bounced down the corridor and sat next to her.

"Isn't this amazing?" she said. She nearly knocked Graihagh sideways hugging her, then opened up a bag of Chocoballs and started chatting away about the celebrations in the Hufflepuff common room and how Professor Sprout was handing out sweets to everyone.

Graihagh cut her off after awhile, raising her voice a little. This was the system they'd come up with when Cate was talking too much, and it worked sometimes. "You should've seen the look on Snape's face," she said. "The most evil wizard of all time just popped his clogs and he looks like his favourite team's just lost. His eyes were all red and everything."

"Really?" Cate's eyes widened and she leaned forward. "Holy shit, Graihagh, do you think he was on You-Know-Who's side?"

"He's probably evil enough," said Graihagh, popping a Chocoball into her mouth.

"That's scary, isn't it?" Cate said. Graihagh made a murmur of agreement and watched as Cate started licking chocolate off her fingers. She had a big smear of it on her face.

"So are the Slytherins celebrating?" Cate asked.

Graihagh popped more Chocoballs into her mouth and thought about it.

"I don't know. It's...weird. I know lots of us are happy about it, but there's a few who were actually on You-Know-Who's side. And everyone's afraid of them. Everyone's trying to act like everything's normal."

Cate opened a bag of Pepper Imps. "You know, I heard some of the other Hufflepuffs talking about it, how the Slytherins are all on You-Know-Who's side and everything, but I didn't really believe it." She popped a Pepper Imp into her mouth and chewed on one for awhile. "I don't think you're all bad." She looked over at Graihagh and smiled. "Like you. You're alright for a Slytherin."

Graihagh gave Cate a playful little shove and Cate breathed fire at her. Graihagh noticed that Cate was wearing jeans and a jumper and sort of wished she could too, but Slytherins didn't wear Muggle clothes; it went against tradition.

"You don't mind, though, do you?" Graihagh asked. "That we're in different houses?"

"'Of course not," Cate said, as Graihagh took a Pepper Imp.

"Good," said Graihagh. "Because I have a lot of fun with you." This was true, although Graihagh rather thought that a big part of their friendship was their willingness to put up with each other when other people might not. She tried not to think about it too much as Cate grinned at her.

They ate lunch together, then Graihagh headed back to the dungeons, but for some reason she didn't want to go back to the common room just yet. She thought she might go for a walk down the dungeon corridors, something she liked to do sometimes. She was just passing Snape's office when she heard something very strange.

She stood still against the wall, listening, heart beating fast. It was a man, and he was sobbing. Snape was sobbing like the world was ending. It was all wrong, like the sea turning black. She couldn't seem to move.

After awhile it grew fainter, and Graihagh made her way back to the common room, thinking it all over. It didn't make any sense at all, unless he was sad that the war was over, but then she didn't see why Dumbledore would let him teach. She had a bad feeling about it somehow, and she couldn't get that horrible sound out of her head.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Thanks so much to all of you for reading, and a big thanks to **TinkerBellNeverland** for the reviews, I appreciate them so much!

Warning: This chapter will reference Snape's abusive childhood.

* * *

He didn't know how it happened. One moment his father was shouting at his mother and the next moment a jar on the mantel had burst, shooting bits of glass everywhere.

His father grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. He pressed his mouth against Snape's ear. "You disgusting little freak."

Snape heard his mother shouting, saw her grab his father's arm, but his father pushed her away. His belt came off. The buckle burned like fire, but Snape didn't cry out.

He was screwing up his face while he walked to the riverbank, rubbing at his eyes, but he couldn't stop what was coming.

Lily was there waiting. She stood up when she saw him and he saw the concern in her eyes. "What's wrong, Severus?"

Snape couldn't answer. He just sat down on the grass. Lily didn't say anything, just sat beside him until he felt better, until he felt safe. He told her what his father had called him.

"He's wrong, Severus. You're not any of those things."

Snape was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, looking out at the river. "I don't really know what I am."

Lily put an arm on his shoulder. He turned to look at her. She was looking him straight in the eye. "I know what you are," she said. "And you're my friend."

He never forgot the way she'd looked at him. Not even in his Death Eater days, when he didn't want to remember.

He'd dreamt he was beside her on the riverbank. When he woke up he thought he was still there, but it was cold and when he opened his eyes the light was dim, not green the way it would be coming through the trees. He realized he was in the dungeon. He pulled the blankets more tightly around himself, but he was still shaking, and he was not sure why. It was a Saturday, it must have been, that's why his alarm hadn't gone off. He wondered what he would do with himself that day. Hole up in his room with a book, he supposed, like he usually did. He hoped his Mark wouldn't burn. He wanted to stay inside today.

He wondered why his insides were so tight. He hadn't slept well, and he was worried. Perhaps reading would help. But he didn't want to get out of bed. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep again. He wouldn't have to think too much when he was asleep.

But he could not go back to sleep. He was shaky and there was a sickness inside him that he couldn't explain.

"Severus?" Snape sat upright and looked over at his fire. Slughorn's head had appeared there.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"Bad time I take it?" Slughorn laughed and Snape thought he was hiccoughing a little. "I was just wondering why you weren't celebrating with us yesterday. Come, m'boy, have a drink with us!" With another hiccough, his head vanished. Snape's heart was pounding and it was probably a good thing Slughorn was gone because he was in a white-hot rage. He threw a flask into the fireplace and watched it smash into pieces.

He didn't know how long he stayed in bed, but once his mind had started to clear he knew he must go about his day; he had responsibilities, and it would seem strange for him to be in mourning. If they didn't know already what he'd been, they might figure it out. Or just as bad, they might realize what he felt for Lily.

He put his hands to his face and took deep, steadying breaths, attempting to rid himself of all emotion. His expression was blank, flat, but he didn't know how long he'd be able hold in everything that was inside him.

He couldn't bring himself to do more than show up. He made his way to the staff room. He could hear them laughing and talking before he even opened the door, and when he walked in the atmosphere was like a party; teachers laughing and joking and toasting each other. McGonagall and Sprout were hugging each other round the shoulders and taking long drinks of mead, red in the face, although he still thought McGonagall looked at him rather sharply when he walked in. Slughorn appeared to be off his trolley even though it was only ten in the morning.

Sprout walked up to him and for a moment Snape thought she was going to pat his back, but she seemed to think better of it and drew her hand away.

"Isn't this wonderful, Professor Snape?" Snape noticed that her eyes were rather bright. He didn't say anything.

"Terrible about the Potters of course," she went on. Her eyes widened a little as though realizing something. "But you and Lily were friendly, weren't you? I seem to remember seeing the two of you walking through the grounds."

Snape just looked at her, trying to keep his face blank. "I suppose we were," he said quietly.

"Are you talking about Lily?" Slughorn had appeared at Sprout's side. "Terrible thing, terrible thing. Such a talented young woman, wasn't she Severus? Even better than you, I daresay."

"Indeed," he said, so quietly he wasn't sure they heard him.

Slughorn looked at him a bit strangely. "Come now, Severus, why so serious? Have a drink with us!" He slapped Snape's back and a glass of mead appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Snape took it and gave what he hoped would be a convincing attempt at a smile, figuring Slughorn was too far gone already to know the difference. The drink helped slightly. He took a leaf out of Slughorn's book and drank until he became dangerously close to breaking down, or shooting curses at everyone in the room, he wasn't sure which.

Classes had been cancelled again that day, as a treat he supposed, and once he'd sobered up a little he did not have anything left to distract him. By evening many of the staff had either gone to join celebrations elsewhere, or, in the case of Slughorn, Hagrid, and Kettleburn, were roaring drunk and singing at the top of their voices. He felt it safe to slip away back to his room, where he lay down in the dark.

When he had emptied himself out and steadied his breathing, he took the photographs of her on his bedside table and tucked them into a drawer in his nightstand. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

He scarcely knew what he was doing in the days that followed. He went through them mechanically, not feeling anything. They had a certain rhythm to them. Get up, pick at his breakfast, attempt to teach imbecilic first-years, have dinner, lie alone in his dark room and try to sleep. There was a certain grim satisfaction in knowing that Sirius Black would spend the rest of his life in an Azkaban cell tormented by his own memories. He hoped he would die there and rot in hell, and that Potter would rot alongside him for being arrogant enough to trust him.

He could not bear to go to Lily's funeral, or to the wreck of the house in Godric's Hollow. Usually he'd end up taking a sleeping draught so he wouldn't have to think too much.

Sometimes in that time between sleeping and waking he would forget what had happened. If he hadn't had a sleeping draught he would remember dreams where they were sitting beside the river together, and think he had really been there. He wanted to stay there always, but wakefulness would come, along with that sick, tight shaking feeling. He dreaded having to get up and teach. He wrote the instructions on the blackboard and sat behind his desk, not really paying much attention to what they were doing.

After about a week of this, he got a note from Dumbledore. Snape did not want to see him. He was not powerful anymore. Just a weak, foolish old man.

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" he said as he entered the room.

"Indeed I did, Severus. Please, sit down." Snape sat and waited.

"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore held out a small bowl. Snape took one even though he didn't like them.

"Well, it seems that Slughorn has decided to retire." Snape knew exactly what this was about now.

"So, naturally, that means you will be taking the remainder of the Potions lessons."

"Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore chewed on a Sherbet lemon."It also means that, as you are the only remaining Slytherin on the staff, you become his successor as Head of House."

There was a slight pause as this sunk in. "I thank you for the privilege, Headmaster," he said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Dumbledore looked at him closely with his piercing eyes. Snape did not want to look at him."I know it will mean quite a bit of responsibility for you, Severus. Are you sure you are up to it at this time?"

"I am, Headmaster."

He was crushed under the weight of it. He did not know how he could pile on all those extra responsibilities on top of his grief. He left Dumbledore's office and returned to his room to lay down on his bed in the dark with his eyes closed.

His mind wandered then to bottles of poison. He had plenty of experience making them, it would be nothing to brew one up. Some were quite painless. He'd be gone before he knew what was happening. But he'd given his word that he would protect Lily's son. He wasn't about to go back on it now.

And yet how he wanted to look into those eyes again, and see the only person who ever knew who he really was.

* * *

Snape still looked young. But there were dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow, like he hadn't eaten in days.

There was something weird going on, and Graihagh couldn't understand it. When she walked into the Potions classroom there were instructions written on the blackboard, as usual, and all Snape did was tell them to get to work, before sitting down at his desk and staring off into space. He looked like he didn't even know where he was.

She tried not to pay too much attention to him as she stirred her cauldron, pushing the damp hair from her face. Her granny had shown her how she could braid it at night to make it easier to brush in the morning, but she'd taken to leaving the braid in for days on end to avoid having to brush it at all, and now it was coming loose and getting in her face. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand go up.

"What is it, Mr. McCulloch?"

"Sir, is this potion supposed to smoke?"

Snape sat up straighter and looked at him with his eyes narrowed. "Read the instructions, Mr. McCulloch. Do they say anything about the potion smoking?"

There was a pause as the boy looked at the blackboard.

"No, sir."

Snape lifted his wand and flicked it at the boy's cauldron. It looked like his potion had vanished. "Looks like a zero for you then, McCulloch."

Graihagh watched as Snape put his wand away and stared off into space again. She couldn't seem to help herself; he was so strange, and possibly evil. Snape must have sensed it, because he looked up at her.

"What are you staring at, Miss Corlett?"

"Nothing," she muttered, quickly looking away.

"I suggest you keep your eyes on your work," he said in a flat sort of voice. He stared off into space again.

She was a little tense and distracted now, and as she crushed mistletoe berries with her pestle she started swinging her legs and humming the tune to "Baggy Trousers," her favourite song, to help herself focus.

"Miss Corlett," she heard Snape say, and she started a little. His voice had a bit of an edge to it now. "I would ask you not to disturb the rest of the class with your tone-deaf warbling."

She bit her lip to stop herself saying anything nasty and channeled her fury into her pestle, smashing it against the desk with a loud _thwack_.

"Miss Corlett!" Snape stood up and made his way to her desk, looking down into her cauldron. "And what is this supposed to be?" he asked in that sneering voice.

She was a little afraid, but her face was hot and she couldn't hold it in any longer. Potions was the only thing she was good at, and she wasn't about to take criticism from anyone, not even Snape.

"What does it look like?" she snapped.

Someone gasped. Snape was very still. Graihagh's heart was pounding.

"Detention, Miss Corlett." Snape's voice was very soft. Graihagh stared down at her desk, fuming over her rotten luck. She'd finally found a subject she could do well in, and it would have to be taught by a man who got all misty-eyed over evil wizards. He made her year-five teacher look like a kind and gentle man, and he'd kept a pet tarantula behind his desk and threatened to set it loose if they didn't shut up.

Snape had always seemed to like Milo, and Graihagh could feel him looking at her from his spot beside her. When she turned to him she saw that he'd raised an eyebrow slightly, but to her relief he didn't say anything about it. She tried not to think about it too much.

At the end of the class, Snape called her up to his desk.

"You will be here at 8 o'clock tonight for your detention," he said. Graihagh was a little startled. She was expecting him to sound all quiet and threatening, but instead his voice was flat and listless. He wasn't really looking at her.

"Yes sir," she said quietly.

At lunch she sat with Cate at the Hufflepuff table.

"Want to meet on the basement steps tonight?" Cate asked.

"Can't," Graihagh said. "Snape gave me detention."

"What for?"

Graihagh told her exactly what had happened, and to her relief Cate just grinned. "I would have paid to see that," she said. "He's always picking on us." She chewed loudly on a cheese sandwich. "I wish we had Potions with you, it's so bloody confusing," she said.

"I'll help you," Graihagh told her. It was satisfying to think of someone copying off her for a change.

Graihagh was feeling a bit more cheerful after that, and when she went to sit with her group of Slytherin girls in the common room that night, she thought maybe they'd have a laugh over it too. But as she sat down they got all quiet and Graihagh could see some of them exchanging glances.

Emily turned to her. "Why were you so rude to Professor Snape?"

Graihagh thought this was obvious. "Didn't you hear him? He was picking on me."

"He's not that bad," said Emily. "And he's our Head of House now. Slytherins stick together."

"Not that bad? He's mean to everyone. And I heard him after You-Know-Who died, he was crying his eyes out!" Graihagh knew her voice had an edge to it, but she couldn't seem to help it.

"You're just making that up, Graihagh."

Graihagh didn't say anything, just pulled out her homework and took deep breaths to calm herself. She'd need to look at their notes again, like she did nearly every day.

"Can I have a look at your notes?" she asked.

Emily pulled her parchment away. "No!" she said. "Would it kill you to actually do your own work for a change?"

Graihagh glared at her. "Oh, like you're so perfect."

"At least I wash my hair," she said. A few of the other girls laughed.

This hit a nerve; Graihagh hadn't washed or brushed her hair in three days. She slammed her books down on the table, then shoved them into her bag and stomped off to the dormitory. Once she'd calmed down though, she wished she hadn't. She'd started to like them, even if they did spend way too much time studying.

She sat there on her bed until it was time for her detention. She was shaking a little, and hoped Snape wouldn't do anything terrible.


	8. Chapter 8

Snape was picking at his dinner, doing his best not to look at anyone. He thought he felt Sprout watching him, so he busied himself with a letter that had just been dropped on his plate, from Lucius.

_Dear Severus,_

_Congratulations on becoming Head of Slytherin House. I do hope you've been given a subtantial pay rise, and that your increased status will provide some compensation for the drudgery of your teaching duties._

_I am as well as can be expected. The fall of the Dark Lord was a most unfortunate blow, and Merlin knows it will give the Ministry free reign to implement their disastrous policies. But I do have a number of useful Ministry connections, at least. Dionysius Selwyn has proven most helpful, even if he does require extra persuasion at times. His son is among your students, I believe?_

_I have some unfortunate news to report, which you may have heard if you read the paper daily. Bellatrix and Rodolphus and a number of others were given a life sentence in Azkaban. Narcissa seems to be taking it well, at least._

_Draco has knows quite a few words now, and has learned how to order the house-elf to bring him toys. I've bought him a toy broom for his Christmas, I'm sure he'll be an excellent flier._

_I hope that you are well, and that your students aren't giving you too much trouble. _

_Yours,_

_Lucius_

Snape folded the letter and tucked it into his robes, then finished his dinner quickly, to escape the staff and have some time to himself in his room. He was drained by the end of the day, and needed the time alone. He'd finished the mind-numbingly tedious task of marking third-year essays and thought he might distract himself with a book, to keep himself from thinking too much.

Books had been his refuge when his parents were shouting and the Potter and Black were making life miserable and he was worried for Lily. He had books on everything, from alchemy to magical plants and animals to astronomy. Young as he was, he had started to collect them, prizing especially first editions and obscure texts; they were his one extravagence and now, his only distraction.

He couldn't remember learning to read. It was like walking, something he simply did. His mother had kept all her old school books on shelves in the sitting room, along with the books she'd managed to get since then, books with missing covers or loose binding that she'd gotten from the thrift shop. Once when they were out walking she found a box of books sticking out of a skip and picked them up and carried them home, and he understood then how much they meant to her.

He used to flip through all of them, even the Muggle ones, but it was the books on magic he liked best. When he was a boy he wondered why his father never made any objection to them being there, and it was only when he got older that he realized he probably couldn't read and had no idea what they were even about.

Sometimes, for Christmas, his mother would get him a book of his very own. They were usually Muggle books, which he didn't like as much, but when she'd gotten him a book called _Murder on the Orient Express_, he couldn't put it down. He had never cared much for fiction; most of it was nonsense, and reading about real things, about the complex workings of magic, was far more interesting. But this strange Muggle mystery fascinated him. Even when he was young, his mind had always needed to be at work, solving problems, using logic.

He'd kept it all these years. It was a paperback, so worn the cover had fallen off and he'd had to repair it with a Mending Charm. He Summoned it off the shelf and sat by his fire to lose himself in it.

He glanced at his watch from time to time, and when it showed quarter to seven he sighed and set his book down. The rest of his evening would be tied up, with the weekly staff meeting and the insufferable Corlett girl's detention. She was acting very strangely, as though she suspected him of something, and it was unnerving.

He kept his eyes down when he walked into the room, and didn't greet anyone. These meetings weren't as stressful as the Death Eater meetings had been in the last year, when he'd had to shut down his emotions and close his mind against the Dark Lord's constant incursions, but they weren't anywhere near as interesting, and he was in a daze and couldn't focus.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," said Flitwick. "I must congratulate you on becoming Head of Slytherin House. And at such a young age!"

Snape knew there had to be some underlying message in this. Clearly Flitwick was implying that his young age made him unsuitable.

"Thank you, Professor," said Snape, with a touch of sarcasm, as he was sure the compliment had not been sincere.

Dumbledore entered the room then and everyone took their seats. It was the usual business. Madam Pomfrey needed potions. Filch had issued about thirty detentions and some of the details still needed to be worked out. But there was another matter that Snape had been asked to bring up.

"I have received complaints that the Gryffindor Quidditch team is overbooking the pitch for practices," he said, looking over at McGonagall.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," she said, rather curtly, he thought. "I shall look into it." He doubted it.

He sat through some long discussions about administrative business that didn't involve him, counting the patches on Sprout's hat and trying not to fall alseep, and when it was finally over and people began to get and shuffle about, McGonagall came over to him. "Perhaps you'd like to join us in a cup of tea before you go?" She said it stiffly, without smiling, and he had the distinct feeling she was just trying to be polite.

He had time to spare before the girl was due for detention, but he declined; he had no desire to socialize with any of them, these people who were so much older and experienced and had never made any horrible mistakes and were probably smug about it. It had been a long day and needed to be alone.

Some rancid smell hit his nose as he walked through the Entrance Hall and he wasn't surprised when Filch came shuffling by, muttering to angrily to himself. He looked up when he saw Snape.

"You didn't happen to see any students run by did you?" he wheezed.

"No," Snape replied. "What happened?"

"Someone's been setting off dungbombs."

"Leave it to me," he said, sweeping away up the staircase in such a brisk stride he was almost running. He'd long had a bit of a soft spot for the caretaker after watching him dole out so many punishments to Potter and his friends.

He caught sight of a black-robed figure running up staircase further ahead. Skipping over the trick steps without conscious thought, he caught him up.

"Hold out your hands." Slowly, reluctantly, likely seeing no way out of it, the boy held up his dirty hands.

"Follow me." Snape led the boy down the staircase and into the Entrance Hall, where Filch was waiting.

"I've found your culprit," said Snape.

Filch's jowly face harden in to a scowl. "Thought it'd be fun to set off dungbombs, did you?" he snarled. "I ought to give you a good whipping for that. Hang you by your feet all night. I've got the manacles in my office." Some of the colour drained from the boy's face and Snape couldn't help but be a little amused.

"But unfortunately," he said, rather bitterly, Snape thought. "the Headmaster doesn't take to those things, so I'll have to give you detention instead."

"If I might make a suggestion," Snape cut in, "I have some cauldrons that need a good scouring."

Filch looked at him a moment, a bit surprised, perhaps, then turned back to the boy. "Yes, I think so. You'll do your detention tomorrow night in Snape's dungeon. Now get back to your common room." They watched as the boy dashed back up the staircase.

"Nothing but troublemakers, the lot of them," Filch seethed.

"I quite agree," said Snape calmly.

"Well, thank you Professor," Filch said as he turned towards his office.

"Not at all." Snape turned towards the stairs to the dungeons to set up the detention, and found that his mood had lifted just a little.

He decided to give the girl the nastiest job he could think of, pickling toads to use in potions, hoping it would keep her unhappy for at least a few hours. She was several minutes late, red-faced and messy-haired, and he saw with some satisfaction that she looked slightly terrified, although her expression became rather too excited for his liking when she spotted the jars of potions and the pile of dead toads on the desk. He wondered if he'd been too soft on her.

"Sit," he said. When the girl had sat down, he placed a jar in front of her. "You will be pickling toads this evening," he said. "Place the toad in the jar, pour some solution into it, and seal it. You will work until all the toads have been pickled."

The girl eyed at the enormous pile of toads lying on the desk, and he thought it likely they were thinking the same thing-that it was going to be a long evening. He went back to his desk.

He'd brought _Murder on the Orient Express _so he could distract himself with it again, and he didn't know how long he'd been reading when he thought he'd look up and check to make sure she was actually working.

"Miss Corlett! What on earth are doing with those toads? Get back to work." The girl dropped the toads into jars and started pouring solution over them.

He hadn't been reading more than fifteen minutes or so when he heard something that sounded like a Screechsnap being tortured. The girl was humming again.

"Miss Corlett!"

"Sorry sir," she muttered. For awhile it was quiet again. Then he thought it got rather too quiet. He looked up and saw that she was leaning forward in her seat, trying to see what book he was reading.

"Eyes on your work," he said in what he hoped was a threatening voice. She turned back to her toads.

"Any more trouble out of you, and I'll have you scrubbing lavaratory seats," he said over his book. She seemed to have gotten the message, and it was quiet after that. He had vague thoughts of asking Flitwick if he could trade her for one of the Ravenclaws

He'd read a few more chapters when the girl's hand went up.

"What is it?"

"I'm all out of jars, sir."

"There's more in the cupboard," Snape said, gesturing behind his desk.

He buried himself in his book once more, but started in his chair when he heard a voice, a woman's voice.

"I never wanted you."

He stood up to see a dark-haired woman standing just outside the cupboard. She looked like an older version of the Corlett girl. He supposed it was her mother.

"I never loved you."

The girl was just standing there, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Leave," he said to the girl. "Your detention is over." She didn't move. She seemed to be trembling.

"She's not real," he said more loudly. "Go. Now." The girl twitched as though shaking off a trance, then hurried out of the room.

He heard a loud crack. He squinted his eyes so he wouldn't have to see her. But he knew she was there. His eyes were wet.

"_Riddikulus_." His couldn't seem to hold his wand hand steady.

"_Riddikulus. Riddikulus_!" He heard another crack, and slowly widened his eyes. She'd vanished.

He went back to his room, but couldn't focus on his book. He took another sleeping draught so he wouldn't have to think.

* * *

Graihagh was relieved that the next day was a Saturday, because she hadn't slept well at all. She didn't understand what had happened. She might've thought Snape was playing some sort of trick on her, except she didn't see how he knew.

She got out of bed as soon as she woke up, so she wouldn't have to think about it. After she'd had some breakfast, she went to meet Cate by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. She'd been warned not to try to get in herself or she'd be doused in vinegar.

"You all right Graihagh? How'd it go?" Cate asked her when she came out. They sat in their favourite spot and Cate offered her a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. Graihagh took one and popped it into her mouth.

"It was okay."

"Is everything alright?"

Graihagh wasn't ready to tell her just yet. "Yeah. I mean, it was sort of fun. I got to pickle toads."

"You're so weird."

Graihagh and Cate rose a few inches into the air and hovered there. "You want to know something really weird?" said Graihagh.

"What's that?"

"Snape was reading Agatha Christie during my detention."

"You serious? That makes him sound almost normal. But I've heard he's part vampire. I think he can turn himself into a bat and everything."

"Yeah, probably. Can you imagine if he were Headmaster? He'd probably have Filch hang us all from the rack."

"Oh, definitely. I bet they're best friends. They probably sit together every night and come up with all kinds of ways to punish students," said Cate, who spent the next fifteen minutes coming up with all sorts of punishments. Graihagh had to admit that some of them were sort of funny. They sank to the ground, chewed their sweets and popped more into their mouths.

"All the other Slytherins love him though because he'd Head of House," Graihagh told her, rising into the air again."They're sort of upset with me right now." She paused a moment. "Sometimes I think they don't like me much."

Cate looked at her, and her eyes were warm. "Why do you think that?"

"I dunno...they seem sort of annoyed with me lately. I had a row with one of them."

"What about?"

"She was mad that I was rude to Snape."

"That's seems like a stupid thing to be mad about. Maybe she'll get over it, you never know."

"Yeah, maybe," said Graihagh. She was quiet again. "Do you think my hair looks messy?"

Cate looked her over. "Well, do you want the nice answer or the honest answer?"

"The honest one."

"It looks like mice are nesting in it." She popped another Fizzing Whizbee into her mouth. "But I still like you."

Graihagh made a face at her. "Cheers," she said.

When she walked into the common room later, she wasn't so sure they would get over it. The girls got all quiet again when she sat down, and when Graihagh started asking Emily a question, she interrupted her to talk to someone else. Graihagh could feel the heat in her face. She slammed her books down and glared at them all before stomping off to the dormitory.

She sat against the headboard hugging her knees to her chest, breathing deeply and trying to calm herself down. It was starting to be primary school all over again, but things were going to be different here, she was determined of that, even if she had to brush her hair every day and be nice to Snape.

An image came into her head then, that horrible image of her mother, but she pushed it away and buried it deep in the place where she'd long kept it, and the next morning, determined to make a new start, she threw her dirty, wrinkled robes in a pile to take to the laundry and put on fresh ones, but gave up halfway through trying to brush all the tangles out of her hair and slapped it in another braid, hoping it would be good enough.

The girls were still giving her the cold shoulder. As she sat in a chair and stewed over it she caught sight of Milo sitting by himself as usual. She picked at her fingernails and glanced over him as she watched a Grindylow drift by the window. When it had swum away, she got up and went over to him.

"Hi," she said, a little quietly.

Milo gave her a quick glance. "Hi," he said. He seemed to be working on a Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.

"Are you working on that troll essay?"

"Yeah," he said, not looking up from his parchment.

"Do you mind if I join you? I'm working on it too."

He nodded, still not looking up, and Graihagh sat down on the chair next to him, spreading out her books and parchment.

They worked quietly awhile, and Milo didn't seem to mind when Graihagh had to look at his notes. After awhile he rolled up his parchment and closed his book, then took out a blank parchment and some quills. Graihagh could hear the scratching as he worked, but his strokes were light and quick, and she didn't think he was writing. She leaned over to look. He started to pull the parchment away as though he didn't want her to see it, but she saw that he'd drawn a picture of Flitwick.

"That looks just like him," she said.

"You really think so?"

"Really."

Milo pulled out his wand. "Watch this," he said. He muttered something and gave the parchment a tap, and the Flitwick on the paper started to swish his wand.

"That's really good," she said. Milo rolled the parchment and took out another one. This time he drew a picture of her. It was a good likeness.

"You can keep it if you want to," he said.

"Thanks." She rolled it up and put it in her schoolbag, then looked up and smiled at him. He gave her a little smile back, and she decided that the corner would be her spot too.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **This chapter has been lightly edited after it came to my attention on Tumblr that Snape would've been Lockhart's seventh-year Potions teacher. It seemed too good to pass up :)

* * *

Nearly six months had passed since that night, but Snape was still in something of a daze, drifting through his days automatically, not paying much attention to anything around him. He'd get up, eat a hurried breakfast, teach his classes, and retire to his office or his room. Sometimes Filch would drop by with a student in need of punishment, which was easy enough to deal with, but he avoided the rest of the staff as much as he could.

Teaching was as gruelling as ever. Snape had hoped his N.E.W.T classes wouldn't be full of idiots, but he was sorely disappointed on that count. Slughorn, with his magnimous spirit, allowed every dunderhead with an E on their O.W.L.s to take his class, with the result that they were every bit as frustrating as his regular classes. And on top of that, all of them had been his former schoolmates, and had no doubt watched him get pushed around by Potter and Black. It had taken weeks of non-stop detentions and the loss of about 400 points from various houses to get it through their heads that he was not to be trifled with.

By the spring term, things had settled down, with one empty-headed, toothy-grinned exeption , a seventh-year Ravenclaw by the name of Gilderoy Lockhart. How he'd managed to get even an 'E' on his O.W.L.s Snape had no idea. He'd overheard McGonagall telling Sprout that the boy was one of the laziest sods she'd ever had to teach.

He stood and faced them all. "Today we will be making Laughing Potion. Does anyone know what it does?"

Mr. Lockhart's hand shot into the air. Snape waited for someone else, but no one volunteered.

"Very well," said Snape through clenched teeth. "Mr. Lockhart?"

Mr. Lockhart smiled and flashed his teeth which were so unnaturally bright they gave Snape a headache.

"A potion that induces laughter in the drinker," he said. "Highly effective against the Banshee, and it so happens I can whip it up with my eyes closed."

"Really?" said Snape, voice heavy with skepticism. The boy was something of an enigma. His potions were at times abysmal, and yet other times they were the best in the class. He couldn't understand it. "Well, it so happens we're making it in class today, so we'll see, shall we?"

Lockhart just smiled back at him stupidly.

He set them to work then, giving them his improved recipe, and sat down at his desk to rest his head awhile. There was a heaviness there that wouldn't go away.

He'd just glanced up when he saw Lockhart pulling a cauldron towards him. His own had been pushed away and was sitting in front of his deskmate, who was looking away, apparently Confunded. He slammed his book shut, but as he did an idea struck him.

"Well, Mr. Lockhart," said Snape, looking down into the boy's cauldron. "I must say I've never seen such exemplary work from a student."

For just a second Lockhart looked taken aback, then he beamed. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"Indeed," said Snape. "I bow to your genius." He gave a deep, sweeping bow. "In fact, I daresay you have surpassed even myself. I'm not even sure what I'm doing teaching this class. Clearly you should be the one teaching it."

That wiped the smile off Lockhart's face. "Come again?"

"I said you should be teaching this class. Go on, show us all exactly what you did."

Lockhart rubbed the back of his head. "I-well, erm..." He looked up at Snape, perhaps to see if he was joking, but Snape kept his expression serious.

"Well..." he said, as the entire class turned to face him. "It's very simple, it's just a matter of, erm..." he glanced at the intructions on the blackboard.

Five minutes later, his cauldron exploded.

"I thought so," said Snape softly. He switched the cauldrons around. "I believe this is yours?" Lockhart turned red, and Snape put his hands on either side of his desk and faced him. "Detention, Mr. Lockhart. And if you ever pull something like that again, I will throw you out of this class."

He gave Lockhart one last, cold look, then dismissed the class, satisfied that he'd likely be rid of the boy before the end of term.

He retired to his room after to rest awhile, but he knew he could be interrupted at any moment by one of the staff or the Slytherins. He hadn't known what to expect when he became Head of House; he fervently hoped none of the Slytherins came to him with their ridiculous personal problems. As it turned out, most of his duties involved discipline, something he didn't particularly enjoy when it involved students from his own House.

He was sitting at his desk drawing up lesson plans one night near the Easter holidays when his door opened and Professor McGonagall stood there with two red-faced students he recognized as sixth-years.

"I caught these two in the corridors after hours, Professor Snape," she said. She looked furious, and he supposed he couldn't really blame her. He may have only been twenty-two but he had no patience for teenage nonsense. Yet his partiality to Slytherin blunted his desire to see them severely punished, and he didn't have the energy to deliver a lecture or set up a detention.

"Write 'I will not leave the common room after hours' ten times and get back to your dormitories," he told them, straightening up his stack of parchment.

"I hardly think that an appropriate punishment, Professor Snape," McGonagall said sharply. She seemed to be channeling her fury at him now.

"Twenty times," he said without looking up. "And don't do it again."

He felt McGonagall's eyes on him and knew just how thin her mouth must have been. Once she'd left he waited at his desk while the sixth-years scratched out their lines, then went back to his quarters and took a potion for headaches.

But his partiality to Slytherin had its limits, as he discovered when he had to do careers counselling a few weeks later. He remembered some of the fifth-years; he had gone to school with them, and it was a rather strange to be talking to them from behind a desk. Quite a few of them were talented at least, and he was pleased to recommend careers in the Ministry or St. Mungo's. But others had no clue what they wanted to do, and some were so thick he was surprised they remembered to breathe.

"Well," he asked one of them, a girl who spent most of her Potions lessons attempting to pass notes to her friends, "Have you any idea what you would like to do after leaving Hogwarts?"

She appeared to be chewing Drooble's Best Blowing Gum and he was prepared to issue a detention if she blew so much as one bubble in his office.

"Not really," she said.

"You do realize," he said, not bothering to hide his irritation, "that you are here for a careers consultation? Surely you have given the matter some thought?"

The girl shrugged, examining her garish pink fingernails. "I have a trust fund at Gringotts."

That she considered this an acceptable response only irritated him further. "Be that as it may," he said, "unless your fortune is quite large you will still need to make a living."

By the look on her face, she hadn't really considered the possibility. She stared into the pace ahead of her a moment. "Editor-in-chief of _Witch_ _Weekly_," she said finally.

He doubted it, if her essays were any indication of her writing ability. "Perhaps something more realistic?"

"I don't know. I kind of like animals," she said.

He looked at his notes again. She was averaging a "P" in Care of Magical Creatures. He sorted through the pamphlets on his desk until he found one on careers in magical food service. He thrust it at her and told her to get out of his office.

Another girl was sitting on the edge of her chair and wringing her hands a little. She was wound so tightly it looked as though the smallest vibration would make her snap.

"Well, have you given-" He hadn't even finished his sentence when, to his horror, she burst into tears right there at his desk.

"I'm going to fail everything," she wailed. For a moment he just stared at her and hoped she would come to her senses. She didn't.

"Pull yourself together!" he snapped. "Your marks are fine."

This did not seem to have any effect. "Hospital wing," he said, loudly enough to be heard over her ridiculous sobbing.

He was completely exhausted by the end of the day, and went right to his room after dinner, taking off his boots and lying back on his bed. An elf appeared in his room, holding out a pile of black robes."Here is your clean robes, sir," it squeaked. Snape told the elf to put them in his wardrobe. "Is there anything else you is needing sir?" the elf asked.

"Get me some wine," he told him. It appeared almost instantly, summoned from the wine cellar, he supposed. The elf put it on his bedside table.

"Anything else sir?"

"Get me some Jaffa cakes." A tray of cakes appeared.

"Anything else sir?"

"Get me Sirius Black's head on pike." The elf's ears drooped slightly and it gave him a confused sort of look.

"Never mind. Leave me."

He sat in bed awhile, drinking his wine and eating his cakes and staring at the fire. He was still drained, but not so tense as before. It was not a rewarding job, this, but it was at least comfortable. He was grateful for that, because the next seventeen years seemed to stretch out before him like some dark, twisting, never-ending road.

One morning, not long after Easter, he got a letter from his mother. He'd spent Christmas shut away in his room at the castle, and he'd been so out of sorts he'd fallen behind on his correspondence with everyone, even Lucius. Only a few weeks before had he finally written her and told her the news.

He opened the envelope and looked at the writing that was so much like his own.

_Dear Severus,_

_Congratulations on becoming Head of Slytherin House, and at only twenty-two years old. What an honour it must be, although you must have many responsibilities, I am sure._

_I hope you are enjoying teaching. I seem to recall that you achieved a near-perfect score on your N.E.W.T, so your students are fortunate to have you. _

_I've been well as always, a bit tired but I suppose it's just the cold, damp weather we've been having. I think of you often._

_I am proud of you._

_Love,_

_Mum_

His eyes rested on those words. _I am proud of you. _ He stared down at them, not knowing what to think. If magic meant that much to her, surely she could have gotten him away from his father's clutches a long time ago, so they could practice it freely. Instead she'd tucked her wand away and spent years watching his father belt him for something he had no control over. He balled his hand into a fist and started to crumple it up.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He tucked the letter into his robes.

* * *

Graihagh was sure Snape was smirking as he handed back her essay, and as soon as she'd looked down at the parchment she knew why; there were red marks all over it, around all the words she'd spelled wrong, and a 2/10 written in the top corner. She'd been one of the worst spellers in her year back in primary school and no one had ever let her forget it. Apparently Snape wouldn't either.

She vented her frustration on the roots she was cutting, feeling calmer as she chopped them up and dropped them into her cauldron. She made a conscious effort not to look at the cupboard behind his desk.

She thought she saw someone watching her and turned to see that it was Milo. It looked like he was trying to see what she was doing. "Do you need some help?" she asked.

Milo went a little red. "Erm, yeah, alright," he said. Graihagh went over the instructions with him, showing him some of the little tricks she'd discovered. When it was finished it looked just right.

"Thanks," he said. He sounded like he meant it, and she was so chuffed she almost forgot about her essay. She scooped some of her own potion into a flask, walking up to Snape's desk with a smirk of her own. It looked exactly like it was supposed to.

Snape was as morose and miserable as ever, and it was nice to get out of the dungeons. She walked down to the greenhouses afterwards with quick steps, enjoying the warm spring air on her face.

"Now, who can tell me what Dittany is used for?" Professor Sprout asked them when they'd all settled into their places. Graihagh thought she remembered, but she was too busy swirling the soil around with her fingers and one of the Ravenclaws thrust a hand in the air.

"It has powerful healing properties. It can be used to heal cuts and burns and things," she said.

"Excellent, five points for Ravenclaw. Now, since its such useful plant, we'll be learning to start them from seed today. You should plant the seeds about one centimetre deep, no more than that, and they like a nice, fertile soil, so you'll want to add a generous measure of dragon dung compost."

Graihagh listened avidly, fingering the soil in front of her. The moment Professor Sprout gave them the go-ahead, she scooped soil and compost into her seed tray, breathing in the scent before pinching the tiny seedlings between her fingers and gently placing them into the mixture. The time passed so quickly she was surprised when Sprout told them it was time to clean up. She liked the feeling of dirt on her fingernails and went straight to the courtyard for break without bothering to wash.

Cate was standing in the courtyard with Theodora Marchbanks, waiting for her. Cate had told Graihagh that the other Hufflepuffs were a little annoyed with Theodora for her attitude about their House, and that she felt bad for her. Graihagh tried not to think too hard about the fact that all three of them were sort of annoying.

"Guess what that wanker gave me on my Potions essay," she said to them. Theodora looked at her a little reproachfully, but Cate grinned. "What?" she asked.

"Two out of ten. Just because I spelled some words wrong. I spent three hours on it."

Graihagh was happy to see that Cate looked outraged. "That is total bollocks," she said.

"You should order yourself a spell-checking quill," said Theodora.

"They actually make those?" asked Graihagh making a snap decision to order some the moment she was finished lessons.

"Yes, they're very useful. Of course, you can't use them on your O.W.L.s." Noticing the blank look that must have been showing on Graihagh's face, she added, "you know, those exams we take in fifth-year."

"So...are they important or something, those exams?"

Theodora looked at her as though she'd just asked whether or not Hippogriffs fly. "They're the most important exams we take. They even effect what kind of jobs we get."

"So what kind of jobs are there for witches and wizards anyway?" Whenever Graihagh had pictured the adult world, she'd thought of people in greasy coveralls holding metal lunchboxes, like her dad, or else dressed up in suits carrying briefcases. She had no idea what a wizard might do, outside of selling things in Diagon Alley.

"Well," Theodora said, "You can work at the Ministry-they sort out magical accidents and make laws and deal with Muggles and such. Or you could be a Healer, or a Potioneer, write books on magic, do research. There are all sorts of jobs, really. "

It all sounded very strange and different to her, and she wasn't really sure which she'd like to do. But whatever it was, she hoped it would be something big. She pictured her face on a Chocolate Frog card, imagined herself giving interviews to the_ Daily Prophet_. She wanted to do things people would remember in a hundred years, things that would change lives.

She'd always wanted something like this, something she could be good at and impress everyone with. Back in primary school she hadn't really been good at anything except getting on her teachers' nerves. She liked to sing, but couldn't carry a tune to save her life. She thought it would be fun to be on television, but whenever there was a school play she'd always been a bush or something like that. She'd started to get into science in year five, but she'd also butted heads with her teacher, and that's what everyone had known her for.

"What are you so quiet about?" Cate asked as they made their way back to the castle with Theodora.

"Just thinking about what I'd like to do," said Graihagh.

But there were a lot of other things on her mind too, and she had trouble concentrating that day, even more than she usually did. She thought she was good at Potions, but maybe she really wasn't. Maybe it would get too hard. Snape didn't like her; maybe he would give her a failing mark.

She had the dream that night, the same one she'd been having ever since Snape's detention, about the woman in front the cupboard. She wondered if her mum really looked like that, like her, or if it was just how she'd imagined her.

She'd tried so hard to bury it, all this time, but she couldn't stop the memory of it surfacing. She could never seem to work up the nerve to ask, but the end of term was getting closer, and the thought of going through the whole summer not knowing was more than she could stand.

A few days later, when she had Potions again, she couldn't stop looking at that cupboard. When everyone was packing up their books and leaving, she stayed behind.

Her legs were all shaky made her way to Snape's desk and she was queasy. She hadn't gotten into any more trouble with him since her detention, but she knew he didn't like her, and she didn't like him either. She took a deep breath.

Snape looked up from the flasks he was collecting and raised an eyebrow at her. "What is it, Miss Corlett?"

Graihagh took another breath. "It's just-there was something I wanted to ask you. Sir." She waited, and he gave her a little jerk of the head that she supposed was a nod. She took another breath. "It's just-that woman I saw. When I was doing detention with you. What-why did that happen?"

Snape set down the flask he was holding and leaned back in his chair. "There was a Boggart in that cupboard," he said.

"Er-what's that? Sir?"

"A shape-shifter. It takes the form of whatever it is we most fear." He was looking at her rather sharply, and she had to look away. It didn't make any sense. She wondered if he was just making that up. If that were really true, she'd have seen her dad dying or a cobra or something.

It got very quiet, and she was all too aware that she was alone with a potentially evil wizard who knew her biggest fear.

"Well...thank you. Sir," she said. She turned and made to leave.

"You might want to pay a little more attention to your spelling," he said, and she could practically picture his sneer. She balled up her hands and bit her lip.

"Your essays are decent, otherwise."

Graihagh turned back to look at him, but it was so unexpected she didn't know what to say, and she turned to leave again. Coming from him she supposed it meant her essays might actually be good.

She thought a lot that day, about the Boggart. But it didn't make sense to her, how she could be afraid of something that wasn't even true.


	10. Chapter 10

Snape was sitting down to breakfast in the Great Hall near the end of term when he got the news. His mother was dying. He got up and went back to his quarters and paced around the room, then gripped the back of his chair and stared into the fire.

Sometimes when his father was at work he'd crawl into his mother's lap and she'd tell him all about the wizarding world that they belonged to, and how he'd go to school in a beautiful castle and learn magic. She taught him to play Gobstones, and sometimes she took out her wand, which she kept in her bedside drawer, and made things hover in the air for him. As he got older she'd taught him things out of her old books.

He could tell when his father was coming home because she would seem anxious and wouldn't talk to him. She'd be busy getting dinner on and he would go to his room and look at his books and try to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach.

Some days after a particularly bad fight, when his father would scream at her and door would slam and he'd be gone for the night, or he could hear her whimpering while she stuggled to get loose from his grip, she would spend the next day lying in bed with the curtains drawn and wouldn't play with him or fix him anything to eat. He'd grab some Weetabix out of the cupboard and sit in his room and he would daydream about having magic powers and being able to make his father turn into stone or disappear.

He remembered how she'd looked as he'd left the house the last time, like she'd wanted to tell him something. He thought of all the things he'd never said to her, and sat down in his chair with his face in his hands. When he'd steadied his breathing, he got up and went to teach his first class.

He left school the next day, before the term had even ended, so he could see her. Dumbledore came by just as he was packing up this things.

"And so," he said, looking at him closely, "your first year of teaching has passed. How did you find it?"

A lot of words came to mind, none of which he thought would be appropriate to say to Dumbledore. "It was...tolerable."

Naturally Dumbledore knew he was not being entirely honest; he looked amused. Then his expression turned more serious. His look was too knowing, and Snape could barely meet his gaze, but to his relief, the moment passed, and all Dumbledore said was, "Well, I look forward to having you back next year, Severus." He held out his hand.

Snape was tense, unable to let go of his disappointment in the old man. "Thank you, Headmaster," he said as he shook it. He sincerely hoped it would be as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. He'd already filled out his application.

He gathered his photographs and some of his books and strode to the gates to Disapparate, murmuring a hurried goodbye to some of the other staff. The moment he saw the row of derelict buildings his pulse quickened. He stayed at the house only long enough to drop off his things, then went to see his mother.

It had been a long time since he'd been in a Muggle hospital, and he'd almost forgotten how cold and sterile they were, white and harsh and fluorescent. He wasn't prepared for the sight of her, hooked up to what seemed like a hundred machines. Her hair was whiter and thinner than it'd been when he last saw her.

"Hello, mum," he said quietly.

She turned to face him. "Severus?" She reached out a thin hand and he clasped it in her own. "I was afraid you wouldn't come," she said. "I wanted so much to see you again." Slowly, careful of the IV line that was hooked to her wrist, she reached out her other hand and touched his head. "How do you like teaching?"

Snape didn't know what to say to this. "It's...interesting," he said. He sat down next to her bedside and told her all about Hogwarts, about Slughorn retiring and his students. For some reason he didn't mention Lily, although she knew they had been friends.

"I'm so happy for you, Severus."

Snape just looked at her and tried to smile a little. In truth he hated teaching, but there was no way he was going to tell his mother that. She would go thinking that her son was happy.

He came to see her every day, spending two or three hours at her bedside, sometimes bringing a book to read to her, but it was strange. She'd drift in and out of sleep and talk to people who weren't there, a mother she hadn't seen in years, a friend who had died. Her breathing was slow and laboured; sometimes it seemed to catch in her throat and rattle.

One day she became very pale, and the doctor came in and examined her, and told Snape to prepare himself, that she was going. He took her hand.

His mother hadn't said a sensible word in days, but she opened her eyes and looked at him, and her gaze was steady.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Snape took a deep breath. "I know mum," he said. "It's alright." He didn't know if it was alright or not, didn't know what he thought of anything, but he wanted his mother to be at peace.

"I love you, Severus."

Snape squeezed her hand. "I love you too, mum," he said, very quietly.

Not long after, she was gone. After he'd filled out some paperwork he went back to Spinner's End and slept most of the day.

A few days later, he washed and dressed and put on his trousers and a suit jacket and trimmed his hair, which had grown past his shoulders. When he left the house there was no one around, so he spun into the air, arriving in a little windswept cemetery on the outskirts of Cokeworth. The grass and the trees were green but it was chilly for June; a breeze had blown up.

The vicar arrived not long after, and his father's brothers, carrying his mother's casket. His aunts were there, and four women there he didn't know, whom he supposed had been her friends. Snape took his place among them silently.

He stood and watched as her coffin was laid in the ground and listened as the vicar spoke for awhile. He kept his expression calm, flat, empty. But he wasn't any of those things.

He shook hands with his uncles, and they patted him on the back. They decent enough, not like his father, but they looked too much like him. After they'd left one of the women he didn't know came over to him.

"You must be Severus," she said. "Your mother told us so much about you." Snape was so surpised he didn't say anything.

"She said that you're a teacher," she went on, "at a very prestigious school. She must have been proud of you."

"I-yes. Thank you," he said. She held out her hand and he shook it. She smiled and started to walk away, but then Snape spoke.

"Did she...was it a difficult illness?"

The woman's eyes were too understanding for his liking, and he glanced away from her. "No," she said. "She went fast." Snape nodded. That was a mercy, at least.

When the women had left he conjured some white roses and knelt down to place them beside the headstone. He traced her name with his hands.

"Goodbye, mum," he said, very quietly.

The house seemed too quiet when he got back. It was strange not to see his mother there. He could almost see her sitting in the armchair with a book, or listening to the wireless when his father wasn't there. He'd walk into the kitchen and remember her bent over the stove, her movements stiff and anxious. The walls had seemed to absorb the anger and the shouting. He started to cover them with books as though it could block the memories, but they lingered there still.

After a few weeks of lying alone in his old room, he was tired of it. One morning after he'd woken up he dressed and packed up some jars and left the house.

He Apparated to an isolated spot on the coast. It was peaceful here; he didn't realize how tense he'd been until it started to leave him. With his wand he summoned three eels, which thrashed about on the beach until he stilled them with a charm. He ran his hands along the smooth bodies, looking over every detail, and when he was satisfied with them he placed them into a jar. He covered them in a solution of his own making, to preserve them, and sealed it.

When he had all the eels and other sea creatures he needed, he moved on to an inland marsh. It was even quieter here without the sound of the sea, just the wind rustling in the grass. A flock of birds flew off when he appeared and settled back down in the reeds. He summoned newts and salamanders and a poisonous frog with powerful skin, for which he needed his dragonhide gloves.

He held the frog in front of his face, brushing back a strand of hair from his eyes, and examined the smooth shining skin that pulsated with its breathing. It was the perfect specimen, and the toxins in its glands could be used for both poisons and antidotes. He stilled it with a charm and lowered it into a jar.

He could have gotten all of these from an apothecary, already preserved, but he liked to touch them, examine them, lose himself in the work of summoning and preserving them. He worked all day, barely aware of the passing of time, forgetting everything else, and when he arrived at the house that night, he sank into bed and slept better than he'd had in a long time.

He did the same thing again the next day, and the next, so that by the time the summer was over he had a large collection of jars to place in his office. He would study them and make potions out of them, and they would be his best distraction.

* * *

Graihagh was so busy chatting with Cate about everything that had happened that year she didn't even realize it at first when the train had slowed down and they were coming into King's Cross. When it stopped they stepped out onto the platform, Graihagh gripping tightly to Scooter's cat carrier. All the noise and movement had woken him up and she could feel him walking back and forth.

"You've got my address?" Graihagh asked her. Graihagh had a cat and Cate had a frog, so they'd be sending letters by Muggle post.

Cate felt for her back pocket where she'd put it. "I've got it right here," she said. "You've got mine?" Graihagh nodded.

They looked at each other, then Graihagh set down the carrier and Cate nearly knocked her over giving her a hug. "Have a good holiday!" she said as they pulled away. She made her way over to her mum and dad and younger brother with that manic intensity of hers.

As Graihagh looked around for her dad, she passed Milo, who was looking for his parents too. She liked him a lot, and there was something about his quietness that she found interesting, as though he had all sorts of thoughts in his head. She wondered what they were.

"Have a good holiday," she told him.

"Yeah, thanks," he said. "You too. I'll send you an owl soon." Graihagh smiled and nodded. She'd given him her Muggle address.

She made her way through the crowd, looking in every direction, until she heard a voice. "There you are!" Her dad pulled her into a hug. "I've missed you." He gave her shoulder a squeeze and when they broke apart he hoisted her trunk and Scooter's carrier onto a luggage trolley and they made their way out of the station.

He drove them to Liverpool, where they spent the night, and they caught the boat to the Isle of Man the next day. Graihagh breathed in the smell of the sea as they got on. The Hogwarts grounds were nice, but she'd missed looking out at the water that stretched to the edge of the horizon, the way it sparkled when the sun was out and crashed in the wind.

Graihagh liked the house they lived in, a little terrace house situated high enough on a hill that she could look out her bedroom window and see the ocean. She had a feeling her granny would be waiting for them there, and she was right. She was standing in the hallway and she and swept Graihagh into a hug the moment she'd stepped inside the door.

"I've missed you," she said as she pulled away. "Now sit down and tell me all about this school." She steered Graihagh over to the sofa in the sitting room and handed her a piece of bonnag, the Manx sweet bread she liked to bake.

Graihagh glanced at her dad. Professor McGonagall had told them they weren't allowed to tell anyone else about the wizarding world, and she remembered when her dad broke the news to her granny, that she'd be going across the sea to school. He'd told her was a school for gifted students, and her granny had just raised an eyebrow at him because she must have known this was total rubbish. She'd seen Graihagh's marks. She'd never liked school either and the two of them used to sit and have a laugh about it.

Graihagh's dad nodded to her. "Well...she said, "It's really...interesting. We learn about astronomy and botany, and potio-chemistry and all that."

"No maths or English?"

"Erm..." she glanced at her dad again. "Yeah, we do that too." Her insides were twisting. There were some people she didn't mind lying to, but her grandmother wasn't one of them.

"Well, I hope they're treating you all right."

"Yeah, they're nice and everything." This was mostly true, although she did get on McGonagall's nerves a fair bit, and she didn't even know how to begin to explain Snape.

She was relieved when her dad started talking about other things, catching Graihagh up on all the skeet and going over their plans for the holiday. It seemed like hardly any time had passed when the sitting room was filled with soft golden light and her father got up and started rummaging through cupboards.

"Don't worry about dinner, Callum, let's take this girl out for some chips, cheese, and gravy," her granny called from the sitting room. Graihagh flashed a grin at her. It was her favourite.

Her granny smiled back. "Bet they don't serve that at your school now, do they?"

"No, they sure don't."

They went to her favourite fish and chips shop, and after they'd eaten they got some ice cream and went for a walk along the promenade. Graihagh stopped at the railing to look out over the sea, her dad on one side of her, a flat cap pulled over his hair, her granny on the other.

"You must miss all this, Graihagh," she said.

"Yeah, I do miss it," said Graihagh. This was true, but she also knew it was what her granny wanted to hear. She was as Manx as the hills, as the old saying went, but Graihagh's uncles had moved away to Britain and America and her aunt had gone all the way to Australia. Only her dad had stayed. Graihagh knew didn't see her other grandchildren all that often.

Graihagh used to see her almost every day, because her granny looked after her whenever her dad was at work and she didn't have school. She'd have a loaf of fresh bonnag waiting for her and they'd do a puzzle or dig in the garden, and in the afternoon Graihagh would curl up beside her on the sofa and they'd watch television. Sometimes they'd do something special together, like go to Castletown for the tin bath races or walk along Peel Beach eating ice cream. Graihagh knew how much she missed all that.

"Well, we've got the whole summer, at least," said her dad. He gave Graihagh a little nod to show her it was alright.

"Traa dy liooar," said Graihagh, using the old saying her grandmother always used to remind her to take things easy. "Time enough." Her granny smiled.

Her dad took a lot of holidays from work that summer so they could have more time together, and the three of them went all over the island. Most of her school books were sat in her trunk collecting dust, but her copy of 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi was all bent up and full of food stains, she looked through it so much, and everywhere they went that summer she looked for magical plants she could use in her potions. She'd put them in her kit or seal them up in jars and line them up on a shelf in her room. .

One day the three of them hopped on the tram and took it to Dhoon Glen, a beautiful ravine filled with trees and waterfalls, where she found asphodel and wolfsbane growing along the path. She stooped down to pick them.

"What's that you've got there?" her granny asked. Graihagh showed her the plants. "Wolfsbane? What on earth are you wanting with that? It's poisonous, you know."

"We're studying it. At my school."

"Sounds like a strange sort of school. They ought to teach you something a little more useful. Back when I was a girl we used to pick ribwort, to heal cuts and things."

"Oh, we use that too, in Pot-" Graihagh clamped her mouth shut before she could finish. She could feel her dad watching her. She had no idea what would happen if she did come out and tell her. She imagined wizard police coming to arrest them or Professor McGonagall swooping down on her like a hawk and chucking her out of school.

"In what now?"

"Nothing," said Graihagh, but she knew perfectly well that her granny thought there was something funny about her school.

But awkward moments like these weren't going to keep Graihagh from spending time with her, and the next day she got her bike out of the garden shed and rode to her house. She could smell the bonnag as soon as she walked in.

"I thought we'd sit in the back garden with this, it's too fine a morning to be inside," she said, handing her a plate of bonnag and a cup of tea. As they walked the back door her granny knelt down and set a slice of bread and some water on the step, gifts for the little people. Graihagh knew they were real because she'd seen them before, and she wondered if her granny had. Maybe she was a witch too, but didn't think she could tell her.

"Have you ever seen the little people?" said Graihagh after they'd sat down.

Her grandmother paused with a cup of tea halfway to her mouth. "I can't say that I have," she said. "But that don't mean they're not real, you know."

"I know." She stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth and tried not to look too disappointed. If she were a witch, she would have seen them for sure; they were all over her back garden.

"You behaving yourself, Graihagh?"

"Yeah, I am." This wasn't entirely true, but her record so far was better than it'd been in primary school, so she reckoned that was something.

"Good. I remember when you used to throw one of your fits. I gave you a smack on the bum and sent you upstairs, but then I'd always come up and sing to you, do you remember that song?"

"I remember. Ushag Veg Ruy. The little red bird."

"That's right." She looked at Graihagh closely. "I know you're doing all kinds of exciting things at that school, but don't you forget where you came from."

Graihagh looked back at her. "I won't. Promise."

"That's my girl." She gently lifted Graihagh's chin with her finger. "You've got a good heart at you, Graihagh, but there's a little monster in there. Don't let it take over."

"I won't," she said. She understood what her granny meant.

After they'd sat and had their bread and tea Graihagh helped her weed her garden and they went for a long walk and watched Antique's Roadshow, and it was just like it used to be. She was curled up on the sofa next to her when her dad came over. He'd changed out of his coveralls and work boots and offered to take them out to dinner again.

It was nice, in a way, going back to the Muggle world. She wore jeans and t-shirts and ate Mars Bars and watched television or sat in her room with Scooter and played her records. She liked being there with them, liked being back in the place where she'd come from. But when the holidays came to an end she was happy to go back to Hogwarts. She wanted to do magic again.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and followed. I appreciate all of you!


	11. Chapter 11

Snape didn't know what he felt as he walked up the steps to the castle and pulled open the front doors. It was a relief to get away from Spinner's End, but it wasn't as though he could grab a Portkey go anywhere in the world. He'd given his word to Dumbledore, and it bound him here.

He was a few days early, and he could feel how silent and still it was. The dungeons were completely empty. Aside from the Bloody Baron, who drifted by without looking at him, Snape was the only one there.

As soon as he walked into his room he pulled out his photographs of Lily and tucked them away in his bedside drawer. Once he'd put his books back along the shelves he went to his office and got a fire going. He set down his suitcase and took out jar after jar, eels and frogs and salamanders, and set them along the shelves. The liquid inside caught the light from the fire and seemed to glow.

He tightened his grip around a jar when he heard a knock at the door. Likely it was just Dumbledore, but he dreaded the thought of having to see McGonagall or Flitwick or anyone else. "Enter," he said.

"Good evening, Professor." Snape turned around at the unexpected voice.

"Good evening, Filch," he said, setting the jar on a shelf.

"I saw you come in. Just thought I'd drop by and say hello."

Snape watched as Filch made his way into the office and looked at the jars along the shelf. "Looks like a silver eel you got there," he said, tapping a jar with his crooked finger.

Snape was startled that he knew. "Indeed," he said. "Their skin is a common ingredient in many antidotes."

Filch walked along the shelves, looking into more jars. "I used to do a lot of fishing," he said. "Still do over the holidays." Snape found it strange to imagine the caretaker doing something that wasn't hunting down students in the corridors.

Filch turned back to face him. "I enjoy working with you, Professor," he said. "About time we had someone who'll give those troublesome little beasts what they deserve."

Snape was rather flattered by this, though he didn't show it. "Likewise," he said. Filch shook his hand, then gave him a nod and turned to leave, and Snape retired to his room.

He shut himself away over the next few days, not coming out until it was time for the Start of Term feast. The other teachers welcomed him back in a polite sort of way, but he still sensed a certain coolness from them, and went back to his room as soon as he'd finished eating.

He'd almost forgotten just how stunningly incompetent most his students were. He hadn't been back one day when three first-years melted their cauldrons and a third-year somehow managed to make his cauldronful of Shrinking Solution explode and turn half the class into shrieking toddlers. He couldn't help but notice that they weren't all that different from their usual selves. He put a Silencing Charm on the lot before giving them an antidote.

He retired to his office at the end of the day, but he couldn't really avoid Dumbledore, and to his dismay the old wizard invited him to his office for a late dinner on his first Friday back.

"Severus, welcome," he said, putting down his copy of _Vogue Knitting_. Snape murmured something indistinct in reply, because he couldn't really say the same.

Dumbledore gestured him to a table in a corner of his office that was already full of food. "So, your begin your second year as Potions Master," he said as they sat down.

But Snape had other things on his mind. "If I may say so, Headmaster," he said, "I find Ms. Hackney an...unusual choice to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"You could say that," said Dumbledore, buttering a roll. "But it was difficult to find someone on such short notice, and given her background I felt she was suitable choice."

"She was a gossip columnist for the _Daily Prophet_, was she not?"

"Indeed. Think of how many people must have had personal vendettas against her. I'm sure she had to learn a few defensive spells during the course of her work." Snape wasn't sure whether or not he was serious. He thought Dumbledore's mouth was twitching.

"You couldn't think of anyone more suitable? Anyone at all?"

Snape knew he was being rather obvious here, and Dumbledore raised an eyebrow slightly. "I feel every member of this staff is precisely where they should be, Severus," he said, so firmly that Snape knew it was useless to say more. He took a long sip of wine and tried not to look irritated.

"I was sorry to hear of your mother's passing, Severus," said Dumbledore, in a softer tone. "I remember teaching her. Suffice it to say I can see where you got your considerable intelligence."

Snape said nothing to this, just stabbed his steak and kidney pie. They ate in silence awhile.

"There is a small matter I wish to discuss with you, Severus." Snape looked up.

"I must confess that I had ulterior motives when appointing you Head of Slytherin House," said Dumbledore. "You were the only Slytherin on staff at the time, of course, but you are also the best person to gain the trust of your students. It seems likely that some of them know of your history, shall we say."

Snape had to stop himself raising an eyebrow. "It sounds, Headmaster, as though you wish me to spy on them."

"Not spy, exactly. But I would like you to keep a close watch on them, Severus. Offer them your guidance, if you can. Of course, the majority of your students are no different from any other students here; it is not a character flaw to be ambitious or cunning, after all. But there are those who will be tempted by the Dark Arts-" he gave Snape a significant look here, which he tried to ignore-"and we both know a number of them come from families who were among Voldemorts most loyal supporters." Snape rubbed his left arm without thinking, at the sound of the Dark Lord's name.

"So, can I count on you to do this, Severus?"

Snape swirled his peas around with a fork. "Yes, Headmaster," he said quietly, not meeting Dumbledore's eye. He kept his voice polite, his expression flat, but in truth he resented the suggestion; it was just like in his school days, the constant suspicion and mistrust of Slytherin House, as though it were tainted somehow. And anyway, the Dark Lord was gone, and so long as he wasn't at large he didn't see the harm in his students learning about the Dark Arts. They were fascinating, and they had to be understood before they could be fought anyway.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore, raising his wine goblet and taking a sip. "And since you are going to be part of the staff for the foreseeable future, you might benefit from getting to know your colleagues better, as well. Don't let the age difference put you off. I think you'd enjoy their company."

Dumbledore's mouth twitch under his beard. Snape said nothing, just glowered down at his food. He excused himself as soon as he could get away with it and went back to his room.

September passed quietly, as he settled into his usual routine, getting up and teaching classes, eating a quick dinner, and retiring to his office. But as it passed into October the air got colder and the leaves fell from the trees in the Forbidden Forest until they resembled skeletal fingers, and he wondered how he was ever going to get through Hallowe'en.

He lay in his bed Hallowe'en morning and took deep, rhythmic breaths, trying to rid himself of all thought, all emotion, but he could scarcely do it, so he got up and tried to keep himself occupied as much as he could. He ate his breakfast hurriedly, not meeting anyone's eye, and left quickly to go to his classroom. The staff were all laughing and joking and toasting each other.

He would not remember, later, how he got through the day, just as he could not remember how he'd gotten through the weeks after her death. All he could do was try to focus all of his concentration on teaching, pacing around and around the classroom and examining cauldrons, marking their work, trying to keep any other thoughts away.

He had to close his eyes again and breathe deeply before entering the Great Hall for the feast. Dumbledore had booked entertainment and the Hall was filled with the ear-grating drone of bagpipes. He wondered if McGonagall had booked the entertainment.

"Professor Snape!" Flitwick greeted him. Sprout and McGonagall and all the others were all smiling at him as he sat down. He couldn't quite look them in the eye.

The glasses had filled themselves with mead. "A toast!" Flitwick said. "To the Boy Who Lived!"

All the others raised their glasses.

"Aren't you going to join us, Severus?" McGonagall asked, almost sharply. She was looking at him a bit suspiciously, he thought.

Snape's fingers wrapped around his glass so tightly he was surprised it didn't shatter. When he lifted the glass to his mouth his hands were shaking too much for him to drink.

"Is everything all right, Professor Snape?" asked Sprout. She was looking at him rather pityingly and Snape turned away from her, staring down at his plate of food.

"It's nothing," he said. "I'm just getting over an illness." He thought Professor Sprout was still looking at him, but she didn't say anything more about it.

Before long Hagrid was singing and everyone was toasting each other and celebrating and laughing and it felt as though they were celebrating her death. He was still shaking. He picked at his food and left as soon as he could get away with it.

For some reason he didn't want to go back to his room, so he wandered the corridors, not paying much attention to where he was going. As he walked along a third-floor corridor he heard some sort of disturbance in one of the classrooms and ducked inside, but it was only Peeves, sticking thumbtacks to all the chairs. He lifted them off with a flick of the wand and made them chase him out the door.

It was as he was leaving that he happened to see the classroom across the hall. The door was slightly ajar and there was something standing there, a tall, gilded mirror he'd never seen before. He wondered if there was some sort of enchantment on it.

He made his way inside the room and when he saw his reflection he nearly cried out. It was himself with Lily, the way they'd looked when they were sixteen. She was laughing and she had her arm around him. She leaned forward to whisper something in his ear, brushing her hair back from her face, and he started laughing with her, their foreheads touching.

He reached out and traced her face with a finger, resting his head against the mirror, as though he could feel her there, but the glass was cold. When he pulled away he stood watched her for hours, until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but when the light hit his eyes he was lying on the cold stone floor with his cloak bunched up under his head.

"Severus?"

Dumbledore was standing in the doorway. He looked past Snape at the mirror. "Ah," he said.

Snape heard his quiet footsteps, and when he looked up he saw Dumbledore's reflection. But he wasn't alone. There were four people with him, a man and a woman he supposed must be his father and mother, another young man who looked just like him, and a smiling young girl waving a wand in the air.

"Is that your family?" asked Snape.

"Yes. My father and mother, my brother Aberforth, and my sister Ariana." He was quiet again. "Ariana lived just fourteen years." There was something in Dumbledore's voice Snape had never heard before. He stood up and looked at her.

"I was there when she died," said Dumbledore, staring into the mirror. "There was...an altercation. My brother, myself, and my friend. It frightened her, and she lost control...to this day I don't know who shot the curse that killed her."

The room was so quiet Snape could hear the rain tapping on the window.

"I cannot tell you that it does no good to linger on regret, because I have spent most of my life doing so," said Dumbledore. "But you must find some means of making peace with it."

Dumbledore turned away from the mirror and gave Snape a long, piercing look. "I would advise against coming back to this mirror Severus," he said. "We need our Potions Master, after all."

Snape looked down at his watch. He'd slept through his morning classes, and it was almost time for lunch. Dumbledore was watching him expectantly. He didn't ever want to leave this room, but he knew if he didn't go now he never would. He took one last, long look at the mirror, trying to burnish the image into his memory, then left the room with Dumbledore.

He wasn't sure he believed the old man, that he'd spent his life in regret. Ariana's death was tragic, to be sure, but by the sounds of it it had been an accident, and he may not have even done it. Dumbledore had no idea what it was like to bring about someone's death.

He would teach here, he would live here, he would do that much for Dumbledore. But he wouldn't do anything beyond that. He wasn't going to spy on his students, or get to know them, or befriend the staff and whatever else it was Dumbledore wanted him to do. He was only marking time.

* * *

Graihagh met Cate on the steps to the Hufflepuff basement the day after Hallowe'en.

"That feast was proper mint, wasn't it?" said Cate. "I always have so much fun at those. Did you see that hag playing the bagpipes?"

"Yeah, I liked that part," said Graihagh. "But you know what? I miss Hop tu Naa."

"Hop-chu-nay," Cate repeated. "Is that what they call Hallowe'en on the Isle of Man?"

"Well," said Graihagh slowly, not quite sure how to explain, "it's sort of like Hallowe'en, but we're celebrating the New Year. We carve turnip lanterns and go round the neighbourhood singing."

"Oh, we used to carve turnips. You know what, I bet they have some in the kitchens, do you want to go look?" She was already leaning forward on the steps, ready to jump up, it looked like.

"Do you know how to get in there?"

"Sure. It's easy. And the elves are dead friendly."

"There are elves here?" Graihagh asked as they stood up. She followed her down the corridor to a painting of fruit, excited to see beautiful creatures with harps and pointy ears. Cate tickled the pear and the entrance appeared.

Graihagh's mouth dropped open a little. The elves were the ugliest creatures she'd ever seen, with wrinkly skin and bulbous noses and hairy ears. But there was something about their eyes, a sort of innocence like in animals, and she couldn't help liking them. It didn't hurt that they were practically falling all over themselves to get them sweets. She and Cate took some leftover pumpkin bread and shoved it into their mouths.

"Anything else we can gets for you?" one of the elves asked. He-she thought it was a he-had a croaky voice.

"Do you have any turnips?" Cate asked

"Yes miss!" he replied. He made his way over to a pile of vegetables in a corner of the kitchen. "How many is you needing miss?"

"Just two is good, thanks," said Cate.

Once they had the turnips, they went back into the corridor. "Well, we've got the turnips, but we're going to have to find some way to carve them," Cate said, looking them over.

"Well...we could sneak into the Potions classroom," said Graihagh. "There's usually spare knives in there, for cutting ingredients and things."

"Let's go then. I just hope Snape doesn't catch us."

"Yeah," said Graihagh. She was a little worried about it too, but she really did want a turnip lantern.

They made their way to the dungeons cheerfully, Graihagh teaching Cate the Hop-tu-Naa songs she used to sing. She stopped singing when they passed Snape's office, and they made thier way past it as quietly as they could. The door was closed and she supposed he must be behind it, or lying in bed more likely. He hadn' t shown up to class that day, and Professor McGonagall had said that he was sick. Graihagh wondered if he was really just sick with grief about the war ending the year before.

There were a couple of spare knives on one of the tables, just as she'd thought there would be. She and Cate each took one and started carving their turnip lanterns.

"Oh shit, that hurts," said Cate, sticking her finger to her mouth. Graihagh saw that it was bleeding.

"You know, I bet we can use a Softening Charm on them," said Graihagh. They pulled out their wands and tapped them on the turnips.

"This is much easier," Cate said as she scooped out the turnips insides. Once they'd carved them, they turned them back to normal and stopped to admire their work.

"Now they just need some light," said Graihagh. They looked around the classroom and saw two small candles on Snape's desk. She and Cate put them into their lanterns and Cate lit them with a fire-making charm.

"Want to go walking through the dungeons with these?"

"Oh yes, let's do it then," said Cate, eyes shining in the light of the lantern.

Graihagh knew the dungeons fairly well by now, and she and Cate ventured deeper into them, watching the candles glow inside their turnips. Graihagh breathed in the burning turnip smell she loved so well, and it was like she was back in Douglas, going out singing with her dad and her granny.

They were just passing by what Graihagh thought was an empty room when she heard something strange, like chanting, only it wasn't really musical. Heart pounding, she flattened herself against the wall and looked inside.

The only light in the room came from a few black candles that gave everything a deep blue glow. There were statues there, with wide, staring eyes. Graihagh thought they were watching her.

Three figures in black robes were standing in front of a cauldron, which was glowing into their faces. One of the figures pulled out a small dagger and lifed the sleeve of his robes, cutting into his forearm. The others followed, and together they tilted their arms so that their blood dripped into the cauldron, chanting strange words.

Graihagh backed up against the wall, breathing hard and looking at Cate, who looked back at her, eyes wide. Graihagh tried to steady her breathing, then, her finger to her lips, she motioned Cate to follow her. They would have to pass the door to the room to get back to the dungeon entrance.

She couldn't stop herself looking as she passed the room. The eyes of the statues were following them, she was sure of it. One of the black-robed figures started turning around to look at them.

"Cate. Run," she said. The pelted down the corridor as fast as they could go, heavy footsteps behind them. They passed Snape's office, but it didn't reassure her. Maybe he knew about it.

She looked back and saw them turning around, but they didn't stop until they were in the Entrance Hall, and Graihagh was so winded she had to sit down on a bench. She was trying not to act afraid, but she was shaking. Cate sat down next to her and Graihagh could feel her shaking too.

"What was that about?" she said..

"I don't think we want to know," said Graihagh. But this wasn't really true. She did want to know.

They sat there together a long time, until they felt calm enough to go back to the basement steps with their turnip lanterns.


	12. Chapter 12

Teaching dunderheads all day was so frustating it made Snape want to pull his hair out, but it was a decent enough distraction, at least. He'd developed a sort of rhythm to it. Lecture on theory, set the potion, watch most of them make a mess of it, send them off with homework. He'd already gained a reputation for strictness and rather enjoyed the way his students fell silent when he entered the room.

He'd developed something like his own teaching philosophy over the past year, and his most dearly held maxim was the importance of giving his students realistic feedback. If their potions were absolute rubbish-and they usually were-he was not doing them any favours by holding their hands and lying through his teeth and telling them they were wonderful. He supposed there were teachers who sang their students praises no matter how stupid they were, and he was not about to be one of them.

The first class that day was his sixth-year N.E.W.T class. The students generally bordered on competent, and some were even talented, so he didn't mind them so much. He set them the Draught of Living Death, using his own improved recipe, since he knew none of them were clever enough to come up with it on their own.

A hand shot into the air. It was a girl from Ravenclaw who was something of a know-it-all.

"What is it, Miss Groshawk?"

"Sir, what exactly is this potion used for?"

This seemed like a pointless question. "It doesn't matter what it's used for."

"But..._Living Death_, sir. Is there some sort of medical use for it or something? I mean, who would want to put themselves in such a state?"

He'd thought of putting himself in just that state a few times in the past year, and the question hit a bit too close to home."Just make the potion and don't ask questions," he said through clenched teeth.

"But..." Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on his face. She opened her potions kit and started pulling out ingredients.

By the end of the lesson, Miss Groshawk's potion turned pink, which somewhat made up for her inquistiveness . "This is acceptable," he told her, hoping he wasn't praising her too much.

His class of fifth-years that afternoon was far less pleasant. Most of the potions were the wrong colour and one particularly poor student even managed to melt his cauldron. This was to be his first full year of teaching O.W.L students; their pass rate would be a measure of his instruction, and he wanted it high. He knew, deep down, that he wasn't suited to this whole teaching business, but the last thing he needed was for the rest of the staff to think it too. Much better for them to go on thinking he'd been hired for his genius.

By evening he was restless and couldn't seem to settle to anything. He marked his place in _And Then There Were None, _another mystery book from his mother, and he pulled on his cloak with the silver serpent fastening.

He wasn't really sure where he was going at first, but when he'd reached the gates a place came into his mind, a place so familiar he didn't even really have to think about it.

When he'd stopped spinning he was standing in a quiet side street in Tinworth, and he could hear the sea off in the distance and creak of the wooden sign just above him. The tavern windows were so grubby he could scarcely see whether there were any lights on inside, but the place hadn't been shut down as far as he knew. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had; it had been a den of illicit potions traffic, in its day.

It was quieter than he remembered, just a few cloaked figures bent over their drinks at the bar, talking in low voices. Snape recognized the man behind the counter, who gave him a quick nod as he walked in. As he made his way over he felt someone watching him and turned to see Lucius sitting at a table, apparently alone.

Snape strode over to him, feeling more like himself, glad to see a familiar face. Lucius was playing a small vial between his fingers and Snape watched as he slipped it into his pocket.

Lucius must have seen him looking. "A little gift for Dionysius Selwyn," he said. "He was recently appointed to the Wizengamot."

Snape was familiar enough with Lucius' methods that this didn't surprise him much. "A bit risky, being seen in a place like this," he said.

Lucius smiled a little and leaned forward. "I've gotten away with far worse," he said, and Snape gave him a knowing look.

The barman came over Snape ordered a glass of wine. He thought some of the people there were looking at him and he wondered if they remembered him. He wasn't sure he wanted them to.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" said Lucius.

Snape's eyes swept over the room, and the smell of pipesmoke and Firewhisky brought him back to all those nights spent drinking with Lucius and Avery and Mulciber. "It doesn't seem like that long ago, does it?" he said.

"Indeed not," said Lucius. "And yet so much has changed." Lucius took a long drink from his goblet and Snape studied the patterns of wood on the table. There was a great deal of truth in what Lucius had just said, more than Lucius himself knew.

"So," said Lucius, and Snape looked up. "You've decided to return for another year of teaching. I must confess that I never really saw you as the teaching type."

"Well, it's certainly preferable to a cell in in Azkaban."

"I suppose it would be," said Lucius. He looked at Snape closely, and his cool, detached manner was gone. He looked earnest. "I understand that you needed Dumbledore's protection when the Dark Lord fell, but that's over now. You have so much talent, Severus. Why waste it on this?"

Snape looked Lucius in the eye but his mind was working furiously, trying to come up with something. "I don't know that I would consider it a waste, Lucius," he said slowly. "It has its advantages. I can give the Slytherins the kind of treatment they deserve, for instance. I can discover the next great potioneer."

"True enough," said Lucius. "But you can't tell me you're not frustrated."

The barman came over with his wine and Snape swirled it around his goblet and took a drink. "At times," he said.

"So why do it at all? You're a free man, you don't owe Dumbledore a thing. Why not just leave, start over?"

"I don't know," said Snape. "Perhaps I will, at some point."

"You should." Lucius took another drink and gave Snape a searching look. "You must be rather lonely," he said.

"I prefer solitude," said Snape. "You know that."

Lucius smirked at him. "I don't believe anyone enjoys being alone all the time. Not even you, Severus."

"Yes, well." Snape took another drink and forced himself to say the words he knew Lucius expected to hear. "The right sort of women aren't exactly common anymore are they?"

"I suppose not," said Lucius. "All the more reason to regret what has happened." He looked at Snape closely. "I just hope you aren't allowing Dumbledore to influence you too much."

Snape sensed something like a warning in his voice. He played the stem of his goblet between his fingers. "No," he said. "He's an eccentric old fool."

Lucius smiled and raised his glass. "Truer words have never been spoken." He drained it and set it down on the table. "Well, I hate to leave so early, but Draco's been wanting me to put him to bed lately." Lucius put a hand to Snape's shoulder and clapped it. "It was good seeing you, Severus. Think about what I've said."

"I will. Goodnight, Lucius." Lucius gave him a final nod and swept out of the tavern. Snape finished his wine and left soon afteward.

The grounds were dark and quiet, and he preferred them that way. It had been days since he'd felt the cold outside air on his face and it refreshed him, making his steps quicker as he walked to the Black Lake. He stood there along the shore, looking up at the stars, following the course of the constellations. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stopped to look at the night sky. He felt some of his tension leaving him. He stayed there a long time, thinking about the things Lucius had said.

He could do it, there was nothing stopping him, really. He could arrange a Portkey tomorrow and spend the rest of his life in some far off country, studying rare plants and inventing new potions, meeting new people who had no idea who he was. It might raise a few eyebrows at the Ministry, perhaps. They'd wonder why he was leaving all of a sudden. But likely they wouldn't stop him. They hadn't stopped Karkaroff, when he got off and fled north. He could start a new life, make himself a memory potion and forget everything that had ever happened to him.

He was walking back towards the castle thinking it all over when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and watched as a skeletal black creature lowering itself into the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

He and Lily hadn't been able to see the Thestrals when they'd learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures their fifth year. Professor Kettleburn had given them some meat to toss to them, and he'd stood with Lily and watched as it disappeared. She'd laughed a little when one of them had started sniffing at her leg, but Snape hadn't liked them much. They didn't seem right, somehow.

Snape was close to the forest now, and as he stood looking at it he had a fleeting thought, the kind that comes almost unconsciously, that he wished he hadn't been able to see them so young. He wondered how it might have made his life different. He wouldn't be here, but where he would be instead, he didn't know.

* * *

Graihagh was sitting in her corner of the common room with Milo working on an essay, but she couldn't concentrate; something didn't seem right. Almost unconsciously she looked up and scanned the common room, and that's when she saw a sixth-year boy watching her. She set down her parchment, lifted Scooter off her lap and stood up.

"Going somewhere?" asked Milo.

"I thought I'd go for a walk," she said. "Do you want to come?"

She wasn't expecting him to say yes, but to her surprise he put his parchment and quill away and stood up with her. They didn't talk as they made their way out into the grounds, but it was a comfortable silence, she thought.

It was mid-morning and the air was cold but there was a mist hanging over everything that she found nice. She hadn't really explored the grounds much in her first year, being too busy exploring the castle, but she felt a little safer out here.

Professor McGonagall had told her once that Hogwarts was about the safest place there was, but between Snape crying his eyes out over evil dead wizards, and what she'd seen in the dungeons, she wasn't really sure anymore. And yet as frightening as it had been something about it fascinated her-not so much the statues the hooded figures and whatever it was they were doing, but that glowing cauldron. She wondered what they were making in it, and if it was something very powerful.

"The grounds are nice, aren't they?" she said, to distract herself from her thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, and he was quiet again.

He was very held in like that. Graihagh wondered if she could draw him out. "I wonder if there are any little people around," she said, looking across the grounds.

"What are they?"

"Well, they're sort of like leprechauns. Cheeky little things. They used to bite my fingers when I tried to pick them up. This one time, I put some in a jar to take to school the next day. But when I got there they'd all escaped." Milo didn't say anything to this, so she went on. "I wonder if it's true that there are unicorns in the forest. I saw one once, a few years ago."

"I've heard there are," said Milo.

"Reckon we should sneak in there?"

Milo didn't answer. He seemed to be looking at something, and when Graihagh turned her head a little she just stopped and stared because Hagrid was standing just outside his hut and he was doing the strangest thing. He was patting the air and talking to it.

"He's barking mad," Graihagh whispered. Milo just stared.

Hagrid turned and saw them watching. "Hello," he said. Graihagh only met him a few times, but he always greeted her, like he greeted all the students, and she liked him for it.

"Er-hi, Hagrid," she said, a bit nervously.

He patted the air again. "There's a good girl," he said. He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it, and to Graihagh's astonishment it disappeared a little at a time, like something was eating it.

"Hagrid-what's happening?"

Hagrid looked down at them and his eyes were crinkled at the corners a little. "I'm feedin' this Thestral," he said. "Dead useful creatures, Thestrals. I breed 'em. Reckon I've got the only domestic herd in Britain."

"What, you mean that's an animal? Why is it invisible?"

Hagrid paused a moment, watching the thing she couldn't see. "Well," he said, "they can only be seen by someone who's seen death."

Graihagh could hear it snorting and pawing at the ground. A shiver went through her. Then she thought of something.

"So-can you see them Hagrid?" she asked.

He was quiet a moment. "I can," he said. He took a lump of bright red meat out of his pocket. "Here," he said, giving them each a piece. "Give it a try." Graihagh wasn't sure she wanted to, but she took the slimy piece of meat and tossed it into the air. She could see it vanishing.

"Fascinatin' creatures, eh?" said Hagrid.

"Erm-I suppose so," she said, even though she really didn't think there was anything fascinating about them at all.

Graihagh turned to see what Milo thought of them-and then she realized something. Milo was patting it. Or he seemed to be, she couldn't tell. Hagrid didn't say anything to this, just looked down at him with a serious expression.

After a minute or two he put his hand to his sides again. Graihagh was anxious to go. "Well, thanks Hagrid," she said.

"Drop by anytime," he said. Graihagh nodded, hoping he would have nicer creatures to show off if she ever stopped by again.

Graihagh waited until they were walking back to the castle to bring it up. "You can see them then?"

"Yeah," said Milo. "I thought everyone could. I didn't realize they were invisible to some people." Graihagh wasn't sure what to say to this. She decided not to mention it again.

They were almost at the castle, not saying anything, and Graihagh nearly jumped when a boy stepped out in front of them. She recognized him as the sixth-year who'd been staring at her in the common room but for one wild moment she thought maybe he just wanted to have a friendly talk with her.

"You haven't told anyone what you saw the other night, have you?" he asked. Graihagh's throat was tight and she couldn't get any words out. She just shook her head. She could feel Milo looking at her.

"Good," he said. "And your friend, you'll make sure she doesn't either?"

She nodded and took a shaky breath. They'd already decided they wouldn't, in case this exact thing happened. "So-what sorts of things do you get up to?"

"Can't tell you that," he said. "But maybe in a few years you'll be able to find out for yourself." He smiled a little and gave her an appraising look. His face was familiar, like someone else she knew, but she couldn't place it. He walked away and her legs were a little shaky and she had to sit down on the front steps.

"What was that all about?" said Milo, who'd sat down next to her.

Graihagh glanced around to make sure they were alone. "The other day my friend and I saw some people doing-well, I'm not really sure what it was, but it must've been something they shouldn't." Graihagh described what she had seen with Cate.

Milo was quiet a moment, thinking. "I think I know what that is," he said. "Skull and Serpent."

Graihagh snorted. "That sounds like the name of a really lousy heavy metal band."

Milo looked confused. "A what?"

"Never mind. So what is it exactly?"

"Some sort of secret society. My dad told me about them. He says they study the Dark Arts."

"Really? Dumbledore must not know about it then."

"I don't think many people do."

Graihagh reckoned that explained a lot. She knew what kind of trouble they'd be in if they were found out. Expelled, probably. She looked out across the grounds, watching a flock of crows circle overhead.

"What makes the Dark Arts dark, exactly?" she said after awhile.

Graihagh knew Milo was thinking, because his forehead was creased. "I don't know," he said. "Because they cause harm, I suppose."

Graihagh crossed her arms and leaned forward a little; it was getting breezy and the mist was being blown away. "But a lot of regular spells do that too. And some of those Dark spells could probably be used for good things, or to stop bad people. So what's the difference, really?"

Milo shrugged. "I don't know." He was quiet a moment. "My dad said that when he went to school, there was this boy who knew all kinds of Dark magic. He could talk to snakes and everything. He told them once that he could stop himself dying."

"But how is that dark? Isn't that a good thing?" She was thinking of the Thestrals.

"It seems like it would be," he said, and Graihagh wondered if he was thinking of them too.

Milo leaned forwards and tucked his arms under his chest. Graihagh wanted to put an arm around him, but she knew he'd probably be mortified if he thought she was feeling sorry for him. "You look cold," she said. "Why don't we go back inside?"

He followed her into the castle and they made their way back to the common room and pulled out their homework again, but Graihagh was too distracted to do a good job of it.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! I took a look at some of the earlier chapters and I want to apologize for not having added a content warning before chapter 5. I've added one now, and I'll add one to any future chapters that need one (there won't be many, because I didn't want this story to be too dark).


	13. Chapter 13

Snape had almost forgotten just how charged the atmosphere in the castle became in the week before Slytherin's annual match with Gryffindor. It was almost electric, students breaking out in duels all over the corridors and graffiti popping up on the walls. The year before he had been in a daze and hadn't noticed a thing, hadn't even gone to the match.

He had two promising new players, second-year boys named Rowle and Shafiq, who'd become the new Seeker. They were loud and spirited and boisterous, but he was willing to overlook it, if they could give Slytherin House a bit of glory. Gryffindor had won both the Quidditch Cup and the House cup for six out of his seven years at Hogwarts, and it was time to even up the score, as far as he was concerned. Besides, someone needed to favour them, as the rest of the school certainly didn't.

He was walking along a fifth-floor corridor the day before the match when he saw them crouched around a corner, wands drawn. They glanced up at him rather nervously as he passed by, but he just walked past them without saying anything. He knew what they were up to, and was not particularly bothered by it. He wanted Gryffindor flattened.

Not twenty minutes later McGonagall showed up at his office clutching the backs of their robes and looking rather like a lioness showing off her prey.

"I've just caught these two attempting to hex one of my players," she said.

Snape glanced at the red-faced boys, who were looking at him earnestly, then back up at McGonagall. "And what is your evidence for that?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know," she said, her voice so thick with sarcasm it was as though he was listening to himself, "perhaps because they were pointing their wands at Miss Jones and saying the incantation for a horn-growing hex."

Snape looked at the boys again, tapping his fingers on his desk. He couldn't really ignore the evidence, but he wasn't about to take points from his own House, especially not in front of McGonagall.

"Write 'I will not hex the opposing players' twenty times each," he told them. McGonagall looked furious, and he was struck with the realization that she wanted to win every bit as much as he did. Perhaps more.

"Well, I must say I'm impressed at how seriously you're taking this, Severus."

Snape felt a twinge of something that he realized was admiration for her boundless sarcasm. He quickly stifled it.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, and he knew he was smirking. She raised an eyebrow.

"May the best team win," she said, looking rather fierce.

"Indeed," said Snape. She turned on her heel and walked away.

The boys scratched out their lines quickly and stood up to leave. "Good luck tomorrow," he told them. They grinned and ran out of the room.

Snape knew Slytherin's prospects for the match were excellent, but he had another restless sleep that night, and woke up troubled. He couldn't remember what he had dreamt about, but he knew it hadn't been anything good. At least it was a Saturday, and he felt some small relief at that as he pulled on his clothes and his robes and tried to forget everything. He sat in front of the fire to finish _And Then There Were None _ before heading up to breakfast.

Snape had always rather liked the food at Hogwarts. It was better than what he'd gotten at home, and anyway, he didn't have to cook it. The bacon and eggs this morning were as good as ever. As he sipped his tea he glanced around the Great Hall, his eyes scanning the tables for any troublemakers, resting a moment on Gwenog Jones, the Gryffindor Beater, who'd already become something of a celebrity. Her head didn't seem too swollen today. No more than usual, anyway.

He took a quick look over at the Slytherins. The Quidditch team had just sat down in their green and silver uniforms, laughing and talking loudly. The Corlett girl was sitting with the duffers at the Hufflepuff table for some reason. He had no idea what that was about. He wondered if he could drop her off at the greenhouses like some sort of foundling and let Professor Sprout deal with her.

When he'd finished his breakfast he made his way to the pitch, keeping his distance from the staff and students. He was wearing a green and silver rosette today and like any decent Head he wanted to see his house victorious, but now that he was walking towards the stands had come he found that what he wanted most was to be sitting someplace quiet where he could distract himself from his memories.

He'd never had a broom growing up, or even a Muggle bicycle like the one Lily had, and his first flying lesson the broom kept throwing him off and the girls had laughed at him. But he'd liked walking down to the Quidditch pitch with the other Slytherins in a green and silver pack, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the stands, leaning on the edge of their seats together, cheering together, celebrating together afterwards. It was a kind of camaraderie he'd never known.

They were like family, in a way. Lucius had taken him in right away, invited him to sit with him by the fire in the common room, taught him all the wizarding customs. He was like the brother Snape never had, and while he was at school they'd always watched the matches together, Lucius explaining the finer points of the game. Later, when he was older, they'd gone to a few league matches together.

Lily had liked Quidditch too, and they'd go for walks after and talk about it, and she'd tease him about being in Slytherin but in that playful way he found so endearing and attractive. But hen Potter became star Chaser and got correspondingly arrogant, he came to dread them winning.

He remembered walking with her after a match one day, in their second year, just after Potter had made the team. They had almost reached the castle when Potter and his friends had shot a jinx at him and he'd fallen to the ground.

It was Lily who had stopped the spell and when he'd gotten up from the ground she turned and started walking again as though nothing had happened. It was a small thing, but he loved her for it.

"I don't know how he stays on his broom with that big head of his, honestly," she'd said, walking backwards and popping some gum into her mouth. Snape remembered the little bluebell-coloured bubbles that floated in the air around them.

Snape turned his head and glared after them. "Maybe I ought to aim a hex at him while he's in the air," he said. "Then he'd fall right off."

Lily's raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't really do that though, would you?"

Snape was surprised by this. He thought she'd like the idea. "No," he said. "I won't."

"Good," she said. "I didn't think you'd really do something like that, Sev." She gave him one of her impish grins. "But I wouldn't say anything if you slipped some Laxative Potion into his pumpkin juice."

Snape laughed out loud at that. No one made him laugh the way she had.

Snape could see and hear it in his mind like it had just happened, and he was distracted as he took his seat in the Slytherin section to watch the match. His mind wasn't really on the game, but from what he saw, his team flew well, and the game ended quickly when the Shafiq boy caught the Snitch. He clapped with the rest and as he was making his way out of the stands when Flitwick came up to him and shook his hand. McGonagall seemed to be avoiding him.

"I must congratulate you on your victory!" said Flitwick. "Why don't you join us at The Three Broomsticks?"

He wasn't the slightest bit tempted by the offer, even though his team had won and it was the perfect opportunity for gloating.

"No thank you, Professor," he said quietly. He just wanted to be alone, and he made his way out of the stands without saying more to anyone, keeping his distance from them.

* * *

Graihagh sat with Cate at the Hufflepuff table the morning of the Quidditch match, where they tried to explain football to Theodora, who'd grown up in the wizarding world and had never seen a match.

"So you can't touch the ball with your hands, right?" Theodora asked.

"Right. You can only kick it with your feet." said Cate.

"Or your head," added Graihagh. She turned to Cate. "You have a favourite team?"

"All my family supports Man United," said Cate."They're sort of fanatical about it, my dad cried a few times last season. What's your team?"

"Liverpool FC," said Graihagh, smirking. Cate gave her a two-fingered salute and they started laughing. Theodora looked from one to the other.

"It's a really fierce rivalry, sort of like Wasps vs. Arrows," Graihagh explained, and Theodora smiled.

"Are you going to sit with us at the match?" asked Cate through a mouthful of baked beans.

"I told Milo I'd go to the match with him," said Graihagh. "But we'll do something after."

"Can I ask you something?" said Theodora. Graihagh supposed that was her way of trying to be polite, because she was the sort of person who was just going to ask anyway.

"Yeah?"

"Do you honestly like being in Slytherin?"

Graihagh sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, I do," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "Most of us are really nice. I mean it," she added, when Theodora raised an eyebrow. "Everything you've heard about us is rubbish."

Theodora opened her mouth to say something, but Cate cut her off. "Whatever you're about to say, Theo, we don't need to hear it," she said. "Graihagh's all right." Graihagh flashed her a grateful smile. The girl still drove mad sometimes, but was fiercely loyal, and it wasn't lost on her.

Graihagh had learned a lot over the past year, about the different Houses and what they meant, and she wasn't really surprised that she'd ended up in Slytherin. It seemed to fit her somehow, and she was proud to wear their colours, proud to sit in that beautiful common room, proud to see the silver serpent banner hanging on the wall of the Great Hall. That Snape was her Head of House didn't take away any of her affection for it.

When she'd finished breakfast she went back to the common room to get her cloak and her green and silver scarf. She was wrapping it around her neck when Milo came up to her.

"Ready to go?"

Graihagh nodded, and they made their way out of the castle.

"Did you ever play Quidditch at primary school?" she asked as they made their way through the grounds, stepping their way around puddles.

"I never went to primary school."

"What, wizards don't have them?"

"No," said Milo. "Well, maybe some do, but I never went to one. I had a tutor."

Graihagh sort of wished she could have just had a tutor; it would have saved her a lot of boredom and trouble. But she wondered if this was why Milo kept to himself so much. Maybe he hadn't spent much time with people his own age growing up. She'd often wondered why he didn't spend more time with the other boys in their year; they were nice enough.

They found seats about halfway up the stands and Graihagh sat down on the edge of the bench, hands gripping the edges tightly. She'd always liked playing football and going for rides on her bicycle and watching the TT motorbike races; she liked all the excitement. She wasn't much of a flier but she'd liked Quidditch from the time she saw her first match, and Slytherin had a strong team.

She was on the edge of her seat the whole match. The new Slytherin Seeker was a blur as he flew across the pitch, ducking and weaving around the bludgers, and when he shot into a dive near the Gryffindor goalposts, all the Slytherins rose as one. When he landed neatly on the ground, hand clenched over something, Graihagh thrust a fist in the air and cheered with the rest, smiling down at Milo, who was clapping and staring down at the pitch. He hadn't taken his eyes away from it the whole game.

Some of the people sitting around her reached out and hugged them, which was nice. Things were still a little tense with some of the other girls from her year, and Livia Travers and her friends had a weird Pureblood fixation and never talked to her, but other than that, Slytherin felt sort of like family.

"That match was brilliant, wasn't it?" she said to Milo as they started to make their way out of the stands.

"Yeah," he said. He was quiet again, as though thinking it all over.

"So do you watch any games outside school?" Graihagh had learned early on that nearly everyone from wizarding families went to games over the summer. Sometimes she wished she could too.

"Yeah, I do," said Milo. "This is my team. Wimbourne Wasps." He pointed to a badge at his chest. Graihagh thought he sounded a little more animated now.

"I've heard they're really good," she told him. They had made their way down the stands and were walking across the grounds.

"Second in the league. They've got a really good beater-" Milo had stopped talking, and Graihagh glanced at him to see that his was looking over at something just beyond her. She turned and saw three second-year boys approaching them, wands out. She thought she recognized two of them from Potions class. Milo reached for his wand, but they were too fast for him.

"_Locomotor Wibbly!" _ Milo collapsed to the ground as his legs gave out. One of the boys was laughing, but the other looked serious, almost angry.

Graihagh reached for her own wand and was just about to aim it when she heard a shout. _"Furnunculus!"_ Milo clutched at his face, which had broken out in red boils.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Graihagh screamed at them, but they just laughed and ran off, so quickly that the hexes she shot at them missed. She kicked the ground so hard her toes hurt.

Once her her breathing had slowed and her head was clearer, she looked down at Milo, who was sitting up, still clutching at his face. She thought the boils looked like they hurt.

"What is going on here?" The voice was familiar. She looked up to see Professor Snape, who was looking down at Milo through his long black hair.

"Some other second-years jinxed him, " she told him. "Sir," she added. Snape looked at her sharply.

"Did you see who they were?" he asked.

"Yeah. Fenwick and McCulloch from Gryffindor. And someone from Hufflepuff, but I didn't see who."

He turned and scanned the grounds as though looking for them, then turned back to Milo.

"Come with me," he said.

"Well, I'll see you later," she said in a tentative sort of voice as Milo and Snape walked away, not really sure what else to say. She watched as he made his way up to the castle with Snape, clutching his face. Milo was small for his age, and in Slytherin, and that seemed the only reason they'd gang up on him like that, and she didn't understand it. She wished she could have gotten them back.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading!

Something I wanted to mention is that I'm considering making Milo more of an OC so that he doesn't necessarily have to grow up to become a Death Eater if he doesn't want to, because Snape clearly likes him and I sort of do too. I have another OC that I'd turn into a canon character to make up for it, but I realize that would mean a lot of OCs, so if you'd rather not see that change, let me know. I want this to be an enjoyable read for you all.

This chapter will have the beginnings of Mentor!Snape. There will be more of that in later chapters.

* * *

Snape strode across the grounds quickly, and he had to stop twice so the boy could catch him up. Sitting through the Quidditch match had evoked far too many memories for his liking. It was like going back in time, almost, and this made it all the more vivid.

Once they'd reached his office, he conjured a flask and summoned the potion. "Drink this," he told the boy.

He was not brilliant, perhaps, but Snape found him to be a diligent student, quiet and polite. He wondered if there was anything he could do for him.

"Thank you sir," he said quietly, handing back the goblet, his skin clear again.

"Not at all," said Snape "Has this happened before?"

The boy turned a little red. "Yes sir," he said.

Snape wasn't surprised by this. "Well, if it happens again do let me know."

"I will, sir," said the boy, but Snape knew he wouldn't. He hadn't either, when he was that age. It only would have caused more trouble.

There was a pause and the boy turned to leave. "Mr. Selwyn," Snape said. The boy turned to face him. "I've been impressed with your performance in my class." This was not entirely true, but when the boy's expression softened he thought it had been worth it.

Snape watched him leave, resolving to keep an eye on him, to see if anything like it happened again. McCulloch and Fenwick would be very sorry indeed, if it did.

He didn't have long to wait. He was walking through a third-floor corridor just a few weeks later when he came across a group of boys standing in front of someone with their wands raised, and as he got closer to them he saw that one of them had pinned the Selwyn boy against the wall.

Snape came right up behind them. "Put them away," he said in his coldest, most dangerous voice. McCulloch visibly started at the sound of it. They turned to face him.

"One hundred points from Gryffindor," he told them. He paused for dramatic effect. "Each."

The boys opened their mouths but he was prepared to dock another fifty points if they uttered a single protest, and they seemed to know it. They closed them without saying anything.

"Ah yes," he added, looking a third boy, "I suppose to make it fair I'll deduct a hundred points from Hufflepuff. Now get out of my sight."

He seriously considered docking them another fifty points for the dark looks they gave him as they walked away, but decided against it. He looked down at Selwyn. He'd pulled his wand out of his robes and was gripping it tightly in his hands, and he looked shaken.

"Thank you sir," the boy said quietly, giving him a quick glance. His eyes flicked down to some spot in the corridor behind him. "Erm...would you mind lifting the curse off my friend?" Snape turned and saw the Corlett girl lying on the ground, rigid as a board. Only her eyes were moving, and they looked furious. He knelt down and tapped his wand to her. "_Finite."_

"Thank you," she muttered, rubbing the back of her head.

"Thank you, s_ir,_" he said. He did not feel such sympathy for her that he wasn't going to demand the respect that was due him as her Head of House.

"Yes, sir," she said.

He looked at the two of them. "Come with me," he said. The girl gave the boy a nervous look, but they followed behind him as he swept away down the corridor. He led them to his office and opened the door. "Inside," he said.

He closed the door behind them and stood facing them, absently tracing his mouth with his finger while considering the spells that would give them the best chance.

Disarming likely wouldn't be much use in a case of three on two. A Shield Charm would work, but he wondered if he should teach them something more powerful. He knew every hex and every curse in existence; he'd created some of them himself. And then the incantation came to his mind unconsciously, as though it had always been floating somewhere near the surface. _Sectumsempra._ A curse so powerful no one would dare touch them again.

They were shifting on their feet a little, glancing at each other, wondering if he'd gone mad, most likely. He couldn't seem to make up his mind.

"Take out your wands," he said. They glanced at each other, looking nonplussed, but did as they were told. "Now repeat after me." He paused. "_Protego._"

"_Protego_," they said in unison.

"Good. Now, hold your wands in front of you, like this." He straightened his arm out and held his wand at chest level. "And give it a sharp jab while saying the incantation. When done correctly, it will create a shield that will block minor hexes and jinxes. Watch me now. _Protego._"

They jabbed their wands. "_Protego_." Nothing. Snape hadn't been expecting it. Many adult witches and wizards couldn't manage it.

"Try again," he said.

"_Protego. Protego!" _ Snape thought he detected a slight disturbance in the air around him, but it was weak. The boy screwed up his face. "_Protego!"_

They practiced it awhile longer. The girl's face was set, determined, but the Selwyn boy's voice had an edge to it and Snape could see he was getting frustrated. "Well, that's enough for now," he said. "Keep working on it. Once you've mastered it, you should find it useful."

Breathing hard, the boy put his wand away, and the Corlett girl did the same, not quite meeting his eyes. Snape watched them as they walked away. The boy had a nervous sort of walk and his eyes darted about the corridor. It was like seeing himself, in a way, and it was unsettling.

Later that evening when he was in his office with a bag of Every Flavour Beans, chewing on an earwax one that was almost as unpalatable as the essays he was marking, there was a knock on his door. He looked up and was surprised to see it was McGonagall. She swept into the room and stood over him like a tartan-clad mountain.

"It has just come to my attention that you took two hundred points from my house today," she said. Her voice was restrained but he thought he saw her nostrils flaring. She was not someone he particularly cared to cross, but he bristled nonetheless.

"Indeed I did Professor," he said quietly. "I came across two of your students in the midst of attacking two of my own. It was not the first time."

For the most fleeting moment she looked discomposed. But she recovered herself quickly. "Be that as it may, Professor Snape," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "I would-respectfully-suggest that you think carefully about how you deduct points in future."

He had the distinct impression that she'd just told him to get stuffed. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall. I'll keep that in mind," he said, glaring at her in a way that plainly told her to shove off.

"Thank you, Professor," she said, in the same tone she might have used if she'd been telling him to go to hell. "I appreciate it."

"Not at all," said Snape through clenched teeth.

"Good evening to you."

"Good evening," he spat, as she turned on her heel and walked away.

Snape couldn't get his mind back on his essays and sat tapping his quill furiously on his desk before sweeping out of his office and sitting in his room to brood over it.

He sank down in a chair in front of his fire and thought about everything that had happened. Loathe as he was to have anything to to with the students, even those from his own House, he didn't see how he could simply stand back and watch what was happening. If there was one thing he hoped, it was that the boy would not go through what he had. Or the girl, for that matter.

* * *

Graihagh was a little surprised that Snape had taught them a shield spell. She'd thought he would have taught them some hexes or curses or other powerful spells that he no doubt knew. She and Milo had kept practicing, but after months of trying neither of them could manage it, so she'd gotten a book on hexes and jinxes from the library and they'd taken to walking the corridors with their wands drawn. Sometimes Snape would be nearby, and they wouldn't try anything. But they still got him, and sometimes her, if she tried to interfere.

By the time the Easter holidays came, she had a mountain of homework, and she was relieved at the distraction, as dull as most of it was. The first day of the holidays she arranged to meet Cate and Theodora and some of the other Hufflepuffs in the library. They'd started asking her for help with her Potion's essays and she loved it, especially since she still got low marks on hers, for stupid little mistakes.

"Do you want to join us?" she asked Milo as she was getting ready to leave the common room. He was bent over his parchment working on an essay, and shook his head without looking up. This didn't surprise her; she'd asked him a few times before, and he always said no. He seemed to like staying in the common room. She made her way to the library alone.

She'd never been a great student, she had so much trouble paying attention and hated homework, but she worked hard at her potions, and most of them turned out just Snape said they should. The Slytherins sitting around her had started to notice, and she'd often whisper instructions to them when Snape was on the other side of the room making sharp remarks to the Gryffindors. No one had ever asked her for help or advice on anything before. Even Theodora sometimes asked her a question or two.

Graihagh looked over Cate's essay. "It's three rat tails, not two."

"Oh, right. Cheers, Graihagh." She started scratching her quill to the parchment, poking her tongue out a little bit.

"So have you managed to get the hang of that Vero Verto spell yet?" Graihagh whispered to them. Transfiguration was her worst subject.

"Theodora got it on the second try, you should have seen it," said Cate, who had finished making her corrections.

"Well, we all know she's brilliant," piped up another second-year Hufflepuff, a boy named Rajiv. He had a soft, smooth face that Graihagh had the stangest urge to touch. He gave Theodora a teasing smile "Should've been in Ravenclaw."

"Oh, shut up you," she told him, her face red, eyes looking down at her parchment. Graihagh looked from one to the other.

"Last year we found her sitting in the common room crying her eyes out," Rajiv explained. "We were thinking someone had died, right, so Cate goes up to her and asks her what's wrong. And she just says-" he drew a breath to imitate her wailing voice-"_I can't be in Hufflepuff_!"

They started laughing so loudly that Madam Pince came over and threatened to kick them out of the library. Graihagh felt a twinge of envy that she couldn't quite explain, but when they'd quieted down Rajiv turned to her. "Can you have a look at my essay too?" he asked her, in a quieter voice. Graihagh's stomach fluttered as he passed her the parchment and his hand brushed against hers.

"It looks alright, except you've got too many Billywig stings," she told him.

"Thanks," he said, flashing her a little smile. She smiled back at him.

They stayed until eight o' clock when Madam Pince whisked them out as she always did, checking to make sure they weren't trying to smuggle any of her books out. When Graihagh got back to the common room, Milo was waiting for her. She'd promised to look over his essay too, and then they'd practice the Vera Verto spell for McGonagall and look at some more hexes.

She sat down and bent over his parchment, trying to go over it carefully, making a correction here and there. When she sat up again he was watching her intently and chewing on his fingernails. She wasn't sure he knew he was doing it.

A grey cat with black stripes jumped up onto his lap. It had sharply pointed ears and its fur was sticking out like it had stuck its paw in a light socket.

"Is that your cat?" she asked. She hadn't seen it before.

"It's a Kneazle," he told her, scratching its ears. "His name's Merlin." He was quiet a moment, moving his finger along Merlin's cheek and under his chin. "Did you know he was in Slytherin?"

"I didn't know that. Neat." She leant forwards to stroke his bristly fur.

"You want to see something?" he asked her. She nodded, curious about what he would have to show her.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a tiny model of a wizard with a long white beard, dressed in emerald green robes. He held a tiny wand above his head. "It's a model of Merlin. I painted it myself."

Graihagh examined it closely. Every detail looked perfect. "Wow," she breathed.

"I have heaps of them," he told her, and she thought he sounded a little excited. He reached into his bag and pulled out one after another until there were seven or eight of them standing on the table in front of them, wearing different colours and styles of robes. Two were sitting atop broomsticks.

"Watch this," he told her, prodding the figure of Merlin with his wand. He began to slash his tiny wand through the air around him, with such force and power that they might've been watching a smaller version of the real thing. He prodded the other figures, and they sprang into life. One wizard accidentally poked a witch in the eye and they began to duel, while the figures on broomsticks whizzed around on their brooms. Some of the figures stopped to watch the flying figures as they weaved around them.

"How do you get them to do that?" she asked him. He was smiling, she saw.

"It's pretty simple on small objects like these," he said modestly, still watching the figures.

"You're really talented," she said. Milo looked up at her.

"You are too," he said.

They sat and watched them a long time, and Graihagh was reminded of why she liked him so much. He had a way of surprising her. She decided right then and there, that she would do whatever she could to protect him.


	15. Chapter 15

Professor McGonagall was droning on and on about things like pedagogy and curriculum and Snape was staring at the floor of the staff room, counting the stones. His head tipped forward and snapped back into place. He counted the stars on Flitwick's hat. Forty-seven. His head was tipping forwards again.

He was walking towards the riverbank. It was a sunny day. He hoped this was the good version of the dream.

"Professor Snape!"

His head jerked upwards again and he opened his eyes. Everyone was staring at him. It sounded like Professor Sprout was trying to stifle a laugh by coughing. He sat up and tried to look like nothing had happened.

"Now that Professor Snape has decided to grace us with his attention once more," said McGonagall in her usual biting tone, "there is an important matter I thought I would bring up, concerning the removal of house points." Snape knew exactly what this was about now. He was only surprised that it had taken her this long to bring it up.

"I want it understood that, while teachers do have the authority to take away house points, they are to do so in a reasonable manner," she said, emphasizing the last two words. A few of the staff members were shifting in their seats and trying not to look at him.

"Remember that, as members of the staff, we are not to show undue favourtism towards our own houses." She looked straight at Snape when she said this. He started to cross his arms over his chest and glower but then he realized how young this made him look. He sat up straighter and tried to look like he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Now then, is there any new business?" To Snape's immense relief, no one said anything. "Right then. Do I hear a motion to adjourn the meeting?" Sprout made a motion, and Flitwick seconded, and Snape thought about how stupid and pointless the whole thing was. The Death Eaters had never bothered with parliamentary procedure or whatever it was they were doing, and even though he hated the thought of him he had a sudden image of the Dark Lord politely requesting that one of them make a motion to punish someone, and Bellatrix's hand going up into the air.

He stood up quickly and started to make his way to the door before anyone could try to engage him in small talk, but Madam Pomfrey came up to him with a sheet of parchment.

"I'll be needing a few potions, if you'd be so kind, Professor," she said. He gave her a brief nod and took the parchment from her, almost at the door, but he just wasn't quick enough.

"Would you like to join us for tea before retiring, Professor Snape?"

Snape had been teaching nearly two years now, and McGonagall still sounded like she'd just eaten something nasty every time she asked him to stay after the staff meetings. He wondered, fleetingly, if he should stay and comment on Slytherin's excellent prospects for the Quidditch Cup, but he really had no inclination to.

"No thank you, Professor," he said quietly, not quite meeting her eye. He made his way out of the room clutching the parchment in his hands.

Once he was back in his office he scanned the list over, eyes drawn to the Blood-Replenishing potion, one of the more complex ones. This was the only part of his job that he truly enjoyed, making these difficult and complex potions.

If he ever felt any contentment at all, it was when he was doing this, shutting himself away somewhere, bending over a cauldron or a spellbook, chopping ingredients, studying wand movements. In his time as a Death Eater he had been given time and space to make potions and poisons and experiment with his spells, often cloistering himself in one of the rooms at Malfoy Manor. They all thought he was brilliant, and he'd enjoyed it. He did not think much, at the time, about what they were being used for; all he knew was that they were serving the cause they were part of, he and his comrades, and that was enough for him.

He'd learned the recipe for Blood-Replenishing as a student, made his own corrections and additions to it, and now he could make it from memory. He opened his cupboards, running his fingers along the jars until he found the right ones. He set it on his work table, then turned to the jars on the shelves along the wall, full of his plant and animal specimens, and found the ones he needed.

He took out three pomegranates, slicing them through with a small dagger, letting the juice spill into a glass bowl, and once he'd done that he picked up a pelican feather with the tips of his fingers and set it it down gently on his brass scale, making sure he had the exact weight. Reaching into another jar he lightly pinched a red anenome flower and held up it up to the light, examining its delicate veins.

Lighting a fire beneath his copper cauldron, he added the pomegranate juice, then, very slowly, the pelican feather, giving it the gentlest stir. As he watched it simmer he raised his arm in a fluid motion and waved his wand with the most subtle, studied movements, concentrating on the incantation with his mind, watching as the potion turned a deep red when the anenome petals hit it. The room was filled with its soft red glow, and by now he'd completely lost himself in the work, thinking of nothing, feeling nothing but the fumes in his nostrils and the thin piece of wood in his hands.

The hissing and bubbling of the cauldron was its own kind of music, and he sat and listened to it as it simmered, watching its colour deepen. When it had simmered the exact length of time, he lowered the heat and added the final ingredients, stirring carefully, first counter-clockwise, then clockwise. He let it simmer some more and when it had finished he scooped a small amount into a vial and examined it in the light, until he was sure that it was exact colour and texture it should be. It would need to stew a few days before it would be ready, so he lowered the heat underneath and covered it, leaving it on the work table. He extinguished the fire in his office and made for his room, satisfied with his work.

He was a little tired by now, and he sat down on his bed, turning his head to look at the piece of parchment lying on his bedside table. A contract, for another year's teaching, and an application for soon-to-be vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Hackney was about as an effective teacher as he thought she would be, and the word in the staff room, during the few times he'd been in there, was that her lectures usually ended with her sitting on her desk and having long-winded discussions with her students about the meaning of life and other nonsense.

This was his chance. He could leave the contract unsigned, pack up his things and go someplace far off, start a new life. He pulled off his boots and lay back in his bed and thought about all the places he could go. A warm place near the ocean, perhaps. He thought of the house he would have, the plant and animal specimens he would collect. But he kept hearing her voice and seeing her face.

He knew. He knew what was at stake. Lucius had been wrong. He was not a free man. And it had been his own doing.

Slowly, as though his body had become too heavy for him, he got up and went back to his office to fill out the paperwork.

When he'd finished he glanced down at his desk and spotted an envelope that had come to him at breakfast. He slit it open with a fingernail and read through the letter, inviting him to dine at Malfoy Manor later in the summer. It had been awhile since he'd seen Lucius, and he would need a distraction. He scratched out a reply, but he wondered, as he did, just how he would explain his decision to stay.

* * *

Graihagh was bent over her cauldron, adding the final ingredients to the Hair-Raising Potion she was making for her final exam. It was sort of fun to make but she didn't have a clue why anyone would. If someone wanted to make their hair stand on end all they had to do was be in the same room as Snape. He was certainly having that effect on her. He was standing right over her shoulder and staring down into her cauldron, watching as it turned an unappetizing shade of yellow, just as it was supposed to.

She took a skeet at the parchment he was writing on. "90." Probably the highest mark he gave out. She couldn't stop herself grinning, she never could when something like that happened. Snape raised an eyebrow and she tried to make her face look all serious before he walked away.

When their exams were over for the day and she'd eaten dinner, she walked back to the common room with Milo, taking her seat in the corner that felt like theirs now, absently scratching Scooter behind the ears and watching Milo as he took a figurine out of his bag and hunched over it, a tiny brush in his hand. His forehead was creased in concentration but he looked totally at peace.

She liked sitting there with him in the evenings, but she sometimes she'd still look over at Livia and her friends where they sat close to the fireplace. Their pureblood obsession was stupid, and she knew whose side they'd been on during the war, but she couldn't help but be fascinated by them anyway, and she couldn't stop looking at Livia for some reason. She was sitting and chatting to one of her friends and as she turned to look at one of them she caught Graihagh staring. Graihagh glanced away before Livia could smirk at her.

She stared out the window awhile, watching the ghost of a girl with glasses being chased by the giant squid, and once she was out of view she pulled her Potions textbook out of her bag and started flipping through it. Some of the potions looked a bit hard for her still, but she was fascinated by them just the same. She could make herself grow, or shrink, or age; she could make herself stronger, faster, smarter. All she needed was the right ingredients.

She circled the ones that looked interesting to her, potions she was ready to try her hand at next term. She could already see it in her mind, the way she would crush and measure and and cut the ingredients, the way she would stir the cauldron, the way the potions would look when they were finished. She imagined all the things she could do with them. She'd never be backed into a corner by anyone, that was for sure. She could give them to her friends, too. Maybe they could help Milo.

"Are you still studying?" said Milo, sounding suprised. "We just had our exams."

"Just looking," she said, closing her book and hoping she didn't look too swotty. She looked at the figurine he was painting. It was a blonde-haired wizard in black-and-white robes. "Wow, Milo, that looks great."

"Cheers," he said. "It's supposed to be Ludo Bagman. He's my favourite player."

They watched him fly in the air awhile, swatting his bat. Merlin jumped onto the table and knocked the figurine out of his hands and started batting it around.

"Oi! Stupid cat!"

Graihagh's head jerked upwards. Milo's voice had a rough edge to it, something she'd never heard before. Merlin arched his back and hissed at him, and Milo looked shaken. "I'm sorry," he murmured to Merlin, sitting back down. He reached out to pet him, but as soon as he reached out Merlin darted underneath the chair.

Graihagh helped Milo pick up some of his figurines and put them back on the table, avoiding his eye, not really sure sure what to say to him. But she understood, really. She knew what it was like to lose her temper and do things she didn't mean.

When they'd finished, she looked at the clock over the mantelpiece on the other side of the room and saw that it was nearly time for her to meet Cate.

She thinking about how much she would miss doing magic as she made her way to the basement corridor. What she would especially miss, she knew, was making potions. Graihagh had kept her head down and worked hard all year in class, and even Snape had started to notice. He didn't criticize her so much anymore, and he gave her house points sometimes.

But there was no way she'd be able to work on them over the summer. When she was little she could sit in the back garden and shred leaves and flowers and watch them smoke and turn all kinds of colours, but she couldn't do that now.

As she sat down on the steps she heard quick footsteps and then Cate was there, looking even more excited than she usually did.

"Guess what," she said as she sat down next to her. "I asked mum and dad if you could come visit us the last two weeks in August and they said yes. We can take you to London and everything."

For a second Graihagh just stared. This was the first she'd heard of it. "Yeah," said Graihagh, trying not to sound as hesitant as she felt. "Sure. Sounds great."

Cate grinned and pulled something out of her robes. "Apple turnovers from the kitchens," she said. She gave one to Graihagh and as they stuffed their faces she listened as Cate talk non-stop about all the things she had planned for them.

"Are we going to have any time to sit down?" said Graihagh when she could get a word in. She'd been picturing slow, lazy days sitting in front of the television or listening to records.

"We won't be busy all the time, promise," said Cate. She took a bite of turnover. "I hope you don't mind sharing a room," she said through a mouthful.

"No, that's alright," Graihagh said.

"Good. Cause I'm just going to warn you right now, I snore like a feckin buzz saw," she said. "Or at least that's what mum tells me." She chewed on her turnover some more. "But I'll try not to flick my toenails at you."

Graihagh nearly choked on her turnover. "That's disgusting!" she said, but she was laughing.

They sat and talked until it was time for curfew, then Graihagh made her way to the dungeons. She liked Cate all right, but the thought of being around her for two weeks straight was a bit overwhelming. It had been awhile though, since she'd spent the summer holidays with someone her own age, and she thought it might not be too bad. Or at least she hoped so.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading. Take care and stay safe.


	16. Chapter 16

Snape had been a teenager the first time he'd walked up the drive to Malfoy manor. The house and the park were so vast it they didn't seem real, and he knew he was someone important, to be invited here. It hadn't been his name or his connections that had gotten them there. He'd made it on his talent.

He hadn't seen the place in awhile. The yew hedges and gardens were lush and green and he could hear the trickling of a fountain and it seemed such a peaceful place now, with the Dark Lord gone. Lucius had always been good to him, had recognized his talent and ability, hadn't taken the piss out of him for being half-blood and poor, the way some of the others had.

"Ah, Severus, good of you to join us," Lucius greeted him, clapping him on the back and leading him into the front hall. Narcissa appeared at his side; she smiled at him and he inclined his head to her. She was holding the hand of a serious-looking little boy who was already beginning to resemble Lucius with his white hair and pointed chin. "I see that Draco has grown," Snape said to Narcissa.

She smiled down at her son, and Snape saw in her eyes a sort of fierce, irrational pride that filled him with a longing he couldn't explain. "Yes, he's tall for his age. And you should see him fly, I can barely keep up with him."

"I'm sure you'll have a chance to see it, hardly a day goes by he doesn't get that broom out," said Lucius with a glance at his son. He turned to Snape. "Why don't you join me in a drink before dinner?"

The two of them made their way down the hall to a handsome drawing room, and Snape remembered how those tall windows and velvet chairs and crystal glasses had made him tense and on edge the first time he'd walked in. He'd caught a glimpse of himself in a gilded mirror as he passed and he was all too aware of his second-hand clothes, his poorly-cut hair, the last traces of the Black Country twang he'd been training himself out of for years.

But it was when he saw the painting on the wall that it really hit him. It was a picture of some apples, but he'd recognized the style. He didn't have a clue why Lucius's father would have a Muggle painting like that in his house, unless he'd Summoned it out of a museum and he was showing it off, that seemed like the sort of thing he might do.

All he'd been able to think about when he'd seen that painting was how much his mother would have loved it. She'd always found beauty in simple things, thistles growing out of cracks in the sidewalk and the glow of streetlamps after it rained. She had an old book full of photographs of paintings and Snape liked to flip through it sometimes and pretend he was in them. His mother liked to look in it too. Her favourite had been a painting of a sad-looking woman standing behind a bar.

But all she'd ever had on the walls of her house was soot-grey plaster. Snape couldn't bring himself to look at that painting now. He wished he'd thought to buy one for her.

He and took a seat in a chair facing away from it, and Lucius sat down opposite and turned to the little elf who was standing nearby. "Drinks," he said.

"Yes sir," squeaked the elf, who rushed away and returned moments later with two glasses of brandy. Snape settled into his chair and relaxed a bit.

"So, are you staying on for another year?" Lucius asked, taking a sip of his drink.

Snape had an answer ready. "As thick as most of my students are, I've taken rather a liking to it."

"Really?" said Lucius, raising an eyebrow slightly. Snape wasn't sure Lucius believed him.

Slipping into his mask was like second nature now, and he kept his face smooth, unreadable, though he wished he didn't have to do it with Lucius. "It has its compensations. I have about a hundred elves at my command, for one thing. And I have a number of talented students."

"Well, there's Travers' children, I suppose," said Lucius. "Corban's sister, Rowle, Rosier, Selwyn."

Snape nodded and took a sip of his drink. "All promising," he said.

Lucius was quiet a moment, running a finger along the top of his glass, thinking, by the looks of it. He took another drink and lowered his glass. "Did you know I've joined the Board of Governors?"

Snape had not known this. "Really?"

"Indeed. Someone needs to check the influence of that Muggle-loving old berk of a Headmaster."

Snape wasn't sure what to make of this slight on Dumbledore, but he made a small murmur of assent.

"And speaking of which," Lucius went on, "I thought perhaps you could be of some assistance there. He trusts you now, does he not?"

Snape looked him straight in the eye. "He seems to think my remorse is genuine."

"Well, perhaps you might be able to use your position to, shall we say, subvert him a little."

Snape tightened the grip on the stem of his glass. "Subvert him how?"

Lucius had just opened his mouth to speak when there was a piercing shriek from somewhere. Draco was sitting in the doorway, broom next to him, rubbing his head and wailing. Snape had to make a concious effort not to stick his fingers in his ears.

Lucius got up and stood over him. "Come now, Draco, that's enough. You're fine. Get up." Draco kept crying.

Lucius grabbed him under his arms and stood him up. "There," he said. "Now get back on the broom."

Draco picked up his broom, but he stood clutching it without getting on, hiccoughing hard. Snape leaned forward in his chair, tapping his fingers on the sides, trying not to stand up. He didn't understand this, this urge to get up and go to the boy.

"Now, Draco." There was an edge to his voice.

Draco's breath was coming in ragged gasps and it was obvious he couldn't do it. Snape was just about to open his mouth when Narcissa came running into the room. She looked Draco over and wrapped her arms around him, giving Lucius a reproachful sort of look over his shoulder.

"He's three years old, Lucius. You can't be so hard on him."

Lucius just stood there a moment. Then he knelt down and ruffled the boy's head. Narcissa picked him up and took him out of the room.

"My apologies," said Lucius, sitting back down. "He gets a bit carried away."

Snape didn't know what to say to this; his mind was on what he'd just seen, and his strange reaction to it.

Lucius took another drink. "So," he said, setting down his glass. "Where were we?" He paused and then answered his own question. "Ah yes. You say you enjoy honing young minds. So why not offer your students a little guidance?"

Snape recovered himself and sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Teach them the old ways. Continue what we started."

Snape took a sip of his drink and composed himself, acting as though he was considering it. "I could," he said slowly. "But I would have to be extremely careful."

"Of course," said Lucius. "But who better to do it than you?"

"I suppose, but it would be foolish on my part to risk raising anyone's suspicions. I was fortunate enough as it was."

Lucius gave him a knowing look. "Ah yes, of course. We are reformed now, after all. Or in my case, no longer Imperiused." As Lucius took a sip of his drink the corners of his mouth turned up. He had to be the most devious little weasel Snape had ever met, and he wasn't sure if he was annoyed or amused.

"Of course, there may be a time in future when it won't matter."

Snape paused with his drink halfway to his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"I am referring to the Potter boy. It's quite clear he has unusual powers. It is only a matter of time before we have a figure around which we can rally once more."

Snape thought the idea of the boy bringing down the Dark Lord with his powers complete nonsense. That had been Lily's doing, not the boy's. But he had the sudden realization, that this belief could serve to protect the boy, should the need arise, although he hoped it wouldn't. He couldn't stand the thought of it.

"An intriguing possibility," he said.

They finished their drinks and Snape stood up, uneasy and tense and not really sure why. He'd been half expecting this from Lucius, really, and it wasn't that long ago he might've been doing it anyway.

Once they'd made their way into the hall, he relaxed again, at least a bit. Draco was himself again, and was flying by on his broomstick. Narcissa joined them, and she and Lucius watched him awhile. "He's quite the flier already," said Narcissa.

"He's certainly fast," said Snape, and Narcissa smiled at him. Their was a warmth in her eyes when she smiled and Snape was drawn to it, not in the sense of wanting her, but something else, something he couldn't explain.

The elf appeared in the hallway. "Dinner is ready, sirs and miss," he said.

They sat down to the large table in the dining room. Snape could see himself reflected in the dark wood. He remembered what had happened the last time he'd sat here, but he pushed the thought of it away.

The elf hurried into the room after them. "Anything I can gets for you, sirs and miss?" he asked.

"That will be all for now," said Lucius. "Go."

They started to eat. There were about ten different pieces of silverware in front of him and he hadn't had a bloody clue what to do with them all the first time he'd been there, but he thought he had a good grasp of it now. Start with the farthest ones, work your way in, or something like that.

Draco pulled out a little figure of a man on a broomstick and gave a chortling laugh as it flew in the air around him.

"We took him to his first Quidditch match last week," said Lucius. "He almost made it to the end before he fell asleep."

"Perhaps he'll play for Slytherin someday," said Snape, lifting a spoonful of crab bisque to his mouth.

"Perhaps," Lucius replied. He glanced at Narcissa.

"Lucius wants him to attend Durmstrang," she said. "Karkaroff's teaching there, did you know?" Snape nodded. "But I can't bear the thought of him being so far away."

"Well, we'll see," said Lucius, smiling at his wife. He turned to Snape. "How did Slytherin do this year?"

"Exactly as you would expect," Snape told him. "We won both the Quidditch and the House Cup."

Narcissa smiled over her soup. "Do you remember that match that ended after just ten minutes?"

"Ah yes," said Snape."I remember it well." This was true; it had been the only time Slytherin had beat Gryffindor during his time at school, and the celebrations had gone on all night. He and Regulus and Avery had set off fireworks at five in the morning and when Slughorn came into the room in his velvet dressing gown he'd just laughed and had a drink with the seventh-years.

The rest of the evening passed enjoyably; it was like putting on comfortable old clothes, being here.

* * *

Graihagh supposed it was a good thing Cate lived in Manchester, because it was only a short way from Liverpool, where the boat came in, and she and her dad could take the train there instead of having to drive all the way to London. Cate and her parents and her brother met them at the station, and after she'd hugged her dad good-bye she got in the car with them, and listened as Cate talked her ear off all the way to her house. She looked like she would've jumped up out of her seat if she hadn't been wearing a belt, and Graihagh wondered if she'd made a big mistake in agreeing to visit.

She followed Cate up to her room, where a camp bed had been set up for her. Her parents brought up their trunks and Graihagh had a look around. It was a nice little room, a mixture of the two worlds they were both part of. There was an inkpot and quill next to a stack of records, a moving poster of Celestina Warbeck tacked up next to a stationary poster of Duran Duran. There were a few stuffed animals on the bed and Graihagh was relieved that Cate's room was a little messy too, though not nearly as bad as hers.

It was late by then, so they got into their pyjamas and crawled into bed. Graihagh turned on her side and closed her eyes when she heard something.

"Graihagh?"

Graihagh rolled over to face Cate. "Yeah?"

"What are the Slytherin dormitories like?"

"Well, we've got these tall beds with silk hangings. There's some tapestries on the walls and a couple of windows looking into the lake. You can hear the waves at night."

"Sounds nice. We've got big quilts on our beds and there's lamps on the ceiling and ivy growing on the walls. It's dead cozy in there."

"Mmm," said Graihagh, turning back over on her side and hoping she took the hint.

She was drifting off to sleep, strange thoughts going through her head.

"Graihagh?"

This time Graihagh didn't turn over. "What?"

"One of the fifth-years said they Vanished kittens in Transfiguration. Do you think the kittens just disappear or what?"

"Dunno."

"That's sort of messed up, isn't it? I mean, why would someone want to make kittens disappear?"

"I have no idea."

"I hope we don't have to do that."

Graihagh didn't say anything, just closed her eyes again.

"Graihagh?"

Graihagh sat up. "What?" she snapped.

Cate looked taken aback, and Graihagh's voice softened. "I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," she said.

"Oh yeah. I'll shut up now," said Cate. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

Graihagh wondered if things would be awkward at breakfast, but she was her usual self, chatting away. Her parents were much quieter-almost too quiet, she thought, and so was her brother. Cate was talking to him, teasing him, and it seemed like she was trying to cheer him up.

Graihagh didn't have much time to wonder about it though, because the moment they were done eating Cate whisked her away to walk to a nearby record store, and after that they all took a tour of Old Trafford and spent about three hours wandering around an indoor market.

By that evening she was worn out, and only too happy to grab a bag of crisps, sink onto the sofa and flip on the television. It was something they'd missed when they were at Hogwarts. They were about halfway through an episode of _The A-Team_ when Graihagh turned to Cate.

"I've been noticing something this summer," she said, as an advert came on. "At first it was so weird to see people flying on broomsticks and waving wands and all that. But...now it seems weirder not to see it, do you know what I mean?"

"I think I know what you mean," said Cate. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa and jiggling her feet a little."It's like living in two different countries, isn't it?"

"Yeah," said Graihagh, absently brushing some crumbs off her lap. "But the wizarding world feels more like home now. I'm starting to feel sort of like a visitor here."

"Really? You don't feel at home here anymore?"

"Well..." She couldn't find the right words to describe what she'd been feeling all summer, this sense that the Muggle world was drifting away from her, like a place she'd left a long time ago. "It's sort of hard to explain."

The show came back on then, but when it was over Cate turned the television off and they went up to her room.

"You still like Muggle music, though don't you?"

"Depends," said Graihagh, flopping down on the camp bed and leaning back against the wall. She wanted to blast the next stereo that happened to be playing Captain and Tenille, underage restriction thing be damned.

"Well, how do you like this?" Cate picked up a Queen record and put it on the turntable.

"I like this," said Graihagh. Cate turned the volume up and jumped back up onto her bed, dancing and singing, and Graihagh was too used to her to think there was anything weird about it. She had a nice voice.

There was a pounding at the door, and Graihagh thought she heard someone shouting something about turning the bleeding music down. Cate flashed Graihagh a grin and lowered the volume just a little.

Their days weren't as hectic as she'd been fearing. When it wasn't raining they'd take some fizzy drinks and drag lawn chairs under a tree in the back garden and talk. Or rather Cate would, but Graihagh was used to it. They went to the cinema to see _Return of the Jedi_, which Graihagh thought had a magic all of its own, and took walks around the neighbourhood. They went into the city centre a few times, but although the people there were friendly Graihagh didn't like it, just as she didn't like most cities, with their concrete buildings and car exhaust and rubbish-strewn motorways.

One night Graihagh pulled her Potions book out of her trunk, making more marks and circles with one hand while she shoved crisps into her mouth with the other. When she'd finished she tossed the empty packet onto the floor before remembering that it wasn't her room. She picked it up and tossed it into her open trunk.

"Reading school books on your holiday?" Cate said over her magazine.

"I wouldn't be caught dead reading textbooks over the holidays normally, but this stuff is so fascinating."

Cate smiled and went back to her magazine, kicking her legs in the air a little. After awhile she set it down and sat up. "Can I ask you something?" She sounded a little hesitant, which wasn't like her at all.

"Sure." Graihagh put down her book and turned to look at her.

"I was just wondering-I mean, if it's all right if I ask-does your mum live with you? I don't think you've ever mentioned her."

Graihagh could never bring herself to tell people what had really happened, couldn't stand that they might wonder if there was something wrong with her. But she trusted Cate, and in a way, she was relieved that she'd asked so she could finally get it off her chest. She sat up on the camp bed.

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

Cate came over and sat beside her. "I promise," she said. Graihagh took a breath.

"She just...left. When I was one. I don't really know why. My dad never talks about it. I've never seen any photographs of her or anything."

Cate locked eyes with her. "I'm sorry," she said, and Graihagh knew she meant it.

She shifted a little so that her knees were drawn up to her chest. ."It's all right, really," she said. "I don't really think about it much, to be honest."

Cate was quiet a moment. "Well, maybe in some ways its all right, that it's just you and your dad."

Graihagh looked at her with a question in her eyes.

"It's just...well, can I tell you something?" Graihagh nodded. "Well, my parents row a lot. I mean, they're nice to me and everything, but..." she glanced at Graihagh. "Sometimes I think they don't really like each other very much. One time, dad left for a week."

Something clicked into place then, and she understood why everyone was so quiet sometimes, and why she'd been trying to cheer up her brother, and she felt awful for her. "I'm sorry Cate," she said. "That's shit."

Cate gave her a half-smile. "Yeah, well, we've all got our shit to deal with, right?"

"Yeah." They were quiet awhile.

"Do you like being here?" said Cate, sounding uncertain again.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

Cate picked at the blanket they were sitting on. "Well, it's just sometimes I think the other girls in my year get a bit annoyed with me."

Graihagh could sort of see why, but she wouldn't have told her that in a million years. "I think you're a lot of fun," she said. She looked straight ahead, staring at a chip in the plaster. "I was always shooting my mouth off at my old school." She was quiet a moment. "I didn't really have any friends there, actually." She glanced sideways at Cate to see what her reaction to this would be, and saw that Cate was smirking a bit.

"You mean you had a temper, Graihagh?" she said. "I find that hard to believe."

Graihagh whacked her with a pillow and then Cate did something she wasn't expecting. She took Graihagh's hand in hers and pressed down. Graihagh pressed back before letting go.

They sat there a long time, side by side. After awhile, Cate got up and turned out the light and went back into her own bed. Graihagh could hear her settling in and pulling the covers over herself, and she was glad to be with her. Even if she did snore like a buzz saw.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **Snape's going to express some frustration with Dumbledore in the next few chapters, but no Dumbledore bashing is intended. Their relationship will grow later on.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

Snape glanced around him until he was sure no one was watching, then ducked into Knockturn Alley. It was much less crowded here, the light dimmer in the narrower street, and he preferred it that way. No one could really see his face.

He glanced over at the tavern as he passed it, an old haunt of his from his Death Eater days, remembering the women there. His longing was intense, physical, an ache that got so bad some nights that he had trouble sleeping, but the thought of undressing himself, showing himself, was horrifying. He passed it by and went inside an apothecary.

He breathed it in, the scent of the oiled wood and the earthy and bitter smells of the ingredients lined up on the shelves, the smell of power and possibility.

He took his time as he walked around the shop, hands behind his back, looking into all the jars. This apothecary specialized in especially rare and dangerous ingredients, the kinds the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley didn't keep in their stores. He picked out some Boomslang skin and a package of Occamy eggshells and made his way to the counter.

The clerk set them on a scale. "That'll be four hundred galleons," he said without looking up.

Snape just stared at him. "You can't be serious."

The clerk's head jerked up and he stared right back. "This here is pure silver," he said, tapping the eggshell package. "You know how much that's going for these days?"

Snape leaned forwards and gave the clerk a meaningful look. "And how much are Class-C Non-Tradeable substances going for these days? I seem to have noticed quite a few of them in your shop."

The clerk tapped his fingers on the counter. "I'll knock off twenty-five galleons."

"A hundred."

"Fifty."

Snape's eyes flicked towards the shelves. "I noticed your rather large stock of Venomous Tentacula seeds," he said. "Did you buy them off Mundungus Fletcher in the men's toilets at the Hog's Head?"

The clerk turned red and glanced down at the counter, and Snape had a feeling his guess hadn't been far off the mark. He decided to press hid advantage and glanced towards the window. "I wonder if there any Ministry officials about today. I hear they've been conducting quite a few raids lately."

"And say they did shut me down," the clerk hissed. "Where would you buy your Boomslang skin then, eh?"

Snape wouldn't be able to, in that case, but he kept his face composed. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Fine then," said the clerk. "That'll be three hundred galleons."

"Pleasure doing business with you," said Snape, smiling a little at the clerk's red face. The man tried to get one over on him every time, and never did.

He'd just left the shop when something brushed against his legs, and he looked down into the eyes of a ragged-looking cat, a Kneazle most likely, bones showing through its filthy matted fur. The creature gave a pitiful mew and started pawing at the pockets of his robes, where he had a box of takeaway fish and chips from a shop in Diagon Alley. He wrenched himself away and started to make his way across the cobbled street, but the little nuisance wouldn't let up.

He tried staring it down, a tactic that usually worked on children, but it only looked back at him, eyes wide. It probably hadn't eaten in weeks. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he reached into his pocket and broke off a piece of fish.

"Don't get any ideas," he told it as it ate. Sweet Merlin, he was talking to a bloody cat. Hogwarts must have been addling his brains.

He left the cat with its fish and made his way over to Borgin and Burkes, to examine the Dark artefacts that fascinated him still. It was dim and quiet; he was the only customer there. He loved the feel of the shop; it was as though the power of the magical objects extended into the surrounding air; it was something he could feel.

Mr. Borgin was standing behind a counter, watching him. "Nice to see you again, sir," he said. Snape gave him a small nod, suddenly uncomfortable. He imagined the way McGonagall's nostrils would flare if she knew he was here.

He walked around the shop slowly, examining a strange-looking doll with wide, staring eyes and a silver tapestry needle and a pendulum clock that was stopped at twelve. He stopped to look at a small dagger.

"That one's a particularly valuable acquisition," Borgin told him, stepping out from behind the counter to stand next to him. "Simply swipe it in the air and it'll cut whatever's in front of it. Causes permanent damage, so I've been told. Nearly impossible to trace."

Snape recognized it. Bellatrix's dagger.

"Where did you get this?"

"Ministry did a raid on the Lestranges after they were arrested. I've got connections."

Snape considered it a moment. He wondered what sort of enchantments had been put on it, if it was a Severing Charm or something more like his own. It was dangerous, this. But that was out of his hands.

His eyes were drawn to a leather-bound book with the title embossed in gold letters. _Maledictum: A Discourse on Dark Magick. _

"That's another recent acquisition," said Borgin. "I've never seen anything like it. Must be hundreds of years old. Covers curses I've never even heard of."

Snape picked it up and flipped through the pages, at the incantations and the illustrations, not the clumsy woodcut kinds he sometimes saw in old books but real works of art. He looked at it so long he could see Borgin shifting on his feet beside him and knew he expected a sale, but he needn't worry. The book was fascinating. He brought it up to the counter.

"Excellent choice, sir," he said. "That'll be fifty galleons."

Snape thought it a reasonable price, and slapped the money on the counter. Once Borgin had given him his change he tucked the book into his pocket, his head full of the things he had seen.

He'd just stepped out of the shop when that insufferable cat brushed against his legs again. It must have been waiting for him the whole time. He raised an eyebrow at it as though it had personally insulted him and strode away, but the thing kept following him and rubbing his head against his legs.

Glancing around again, he picked it up. It appeared to be male. He began to purr so loudly Snape could feel the vibration in his chest and it settled down in his arms as though he planned to stay there a good long while. Impertinent little beast.

"I suppose I'll have to go buy food for you, you stupid thing," he said to him. He was headed to the Magical Menagerie anyway, to get owl treats for his hawk owl Apollo. He tapped his wand to the cat and Disillusioned it in case any students were hanging around, and let it ride on his shoulder.

Once he'd bought some food and dishes for it, he returned to his house and sat on the sofa in the living room with the book he'd bought, the Kneazle curled up beside him. He supposed he'd have to come up with a name for him.

He returned to Hogwarts a few days later, carrying his suitcase and the Kneazle and his hawk owl, every muscle tight and strained. Dumbledore wanted him spying on students, Lucius wanted him studying the Dark Arts. He remembered a night in his first year at Hogwarts, when Lucius had sat him down to play wizard chess. He'd held up one of the eight pawns. Expendable, he'd called them. But highly useful.

Rather like Snape.

"Professor Snape, so good to see you." Dumbledore was standing in the Entrance Hall, beaming at him as he walked in. He held out a hand.

"Likewise," said Snape as he shook Dumbledore's hand, but there was an edge to his voice and he wondered if Dumbledore heard it and knew how empty his words were. His expression was difficult to read as he looked down at Snape, and all Snape could think about was the book hidden in his suitcase, the book he was sneaking into the castle right under the old man's crooked nose, a leather-bound _fuck you._

Once he'd let go of his hand he walked away, before anyone could come and make small talk with him, and went straight to his room and sat down on his bed, pulling off his boots and tucking his photographs of Lily back into the drawer of his nightstand.

He leaned back on his bed and pulled his book out. He resented Lucius too, for his meddling, but he understood him, at least, understood the draw the Dark Arts had for his students. He'd learned them himself as a child, from his mother's books. At first he'd found the hexes and jinxes funny. He'd liked the idea of making someone vomit up slugs or sprout horns. He imagined using some of them on his father, even though he knew he'd never get away with it.

There was beauty in them, in the way they eternal and yet ever-changing, like light in a deep pool of water. Their power was not the power of physical prowess; it was a power of the intellect, an ability to manipulate the forces of magic.

When he'd finished reading he got into bed and pulled the covers over himself, the Kneazle curled up at the foot of his bed, and he thought about Lily. She was the only one who never wanted anything from him, never asked any more of him than to just be, skinny legs and dirty hair and bruised back. He was enough for her, just as he was.

Sometimes she would bring him something to eat when they met at the riverbank, biscuits her mother made or Mars Bars, because she knew he didn't get much at home. They'd sit and eat together and then sprawl in the grass and look up at the sky. She liked to talk about magic.

"What do you think we'll be, when we learn magic?" she asked one day.

"I don't know," said Snape "I suppose we could be all sorts of things." He put his hands behind his head and watched a cloud drift by. "I want to be part of something really big. I want to do things that have never been done before."

"Well, maybe you will. You're the most intelligent person I know."

He never forgot the way he'd felt when she'd said that. Like he could do anything. He pictured it as he fell asleep.

He woke up sweating. He'd had the nightmare again, the one where Lily was lying by the river, with the slashed face of the man. He sat up and rested his face in his hands but he couldn't steady his breathing.

* * *

"It's them again," said Graihagh, looking over at a group of three boys who were making their way down the stands. "In here." She pulled at the sleeve of Milo's robes and they ducked underneath the Quidditch stands. The wood blocked out some of the sound and it was dark except for small flecks of light coming through the slits.

Milo was as small as ever, and the other boys hadn't let up on him any. Graihagh had already had to take him to the hospital wing a few times. That Slytherin had just won the match wasn't likely to improve their mood, she thought. Milo sat down against a wooden post, knees drawn up to his chest, and Graihagh sat down beside him.

"They're fucking tossers," she said. Milo didn't say anything for awhile, just sat and stared straight ahead of him. His face was strained tight and Graihagh wondered if he was trying not to cry.

"I hate them," he said after awhile. "I wish I could fight back."

Graihagh knew how he felt. She knew what it was like to be ganged up on, outnumbered, even if she'd started it a lot of the time.

"I know," she said. She stared ahead of her too, looking at a narrow strip of sunlight coming through the wood. "But once we start learning more spells, you'll have a better chance, won't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you don't have to be really strong or anything to do really powerful magic. Look at Flitwick. I hear he was a duelling champion back in the day."

"Really? I didn't know that." Milo was still staring ahead of him, but his voice wasn't so flat now.

"Someday you'll be able to hex the shit out of them," said Graihagh, hoping he was starting to cheer up. He smiled a little.

"Yeah. Cheers," he said. They were quiet awhile. "Do you ever think about what you want to do when you leave here? Think you'll be a Potioneer or something?"

She'd often pictured herself opening up her own shop, inventing a brand-new potion, a new cure maybe, and becoming famous. "Yeah, that might be alright," she said, watching a ladybird crawl along the grass. She looked back up at him. "What about you? What do you want to be?"

He stared straight ahead a moment, head resting on his arms, not saying anything. "I don't know...maybe this is going to sound strange, but...I'd kind of like to make things. Like magical instruments and enchanted figurines and such." He sounded so hesistant, like he was embarassed to admit it. "Maybe that sounds stupid," he added.

"I don't think it sounds stupid. I think you'd be great at it. Those ones you made look like something out of a shop."

Milo gave her a little half-smile, then rested his head on his arms and looked at the grass. Graihagh liked that they could be quiet together like that.

"I was wondering something," said Milo after awhile. "Could you-I mean, only if you want to, but do you think you could make me some of that Girding Solution we learned about in Potions last week?"

Graihagh knew exactly what he was getting at. A dose or two of that and he'd outrun his bullies easily. She liked the thought of it, that she could make something to help him.

"No problem," she said. "That's kind of the thing I was talking about though. I mean, there's a potion for just about anything you can think of. You just have to know how to make them."

"I see what you mean," said Milo, his forehead creasing the way it did when he was thinking.

There were no more footsteps above them and the grounds seemed quiet. Graihagh went outside and looked around. "They're gone."

Milo got up and they made their way back to the castle. A wind had picked up and she wrapped her scarf around her neck without really thinking about it, or about where she was going, her head too full to concentrate on anything. Her feet seemed to move on their own.

She went straight to her dormitory, and once she'd tossed her cloak and scarf on the bed she lugged her cauldron and brass scales into the common room, setting them up on the table in their corner and starting a small fire underneath on a metal plate. Forgetting everything around her, she'd weighed and measured and stirred, bending her head over the fumes to breathe them in even though they were strong and sharp, like cat pee or the ammonia her granny cleaned with. Milo sat beside her and watched.

"What are you brewing?" a voice behind her asked, and she was jerked out of her reverie. Another third-year, Thorfinn Rowle, was standing over her.

"Girding Potion," she told him matter-of-factly, looking back at her cauldron.

"Isn't that the one that gives you extra endurance? Can you make some for me?"

She looked up at him, surprised. He was already as big as a professional rugby player, she didn't really see what he'd need it for. "Yeah, I suppose," she said, trying to sound casual, but her insides were bursting with excitement. She was getting noticed. Thorfinn was loud and good-looking and everyone liked him. She'd watched him go over to his friends, and after a little while he came back.

"Do you think you can make some for the whole team?" he said.

She glanced over at the sofas and chairs by the fire where the rest of the Quidditch team was sitting, watching them. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, that'd be no problem."


	18. Chapter 18

a potion for just about anything you can think of. You just have to know how to make them."

Ever since the start of term Snape had been sitting in front of the fire, reading from the book he'd bought, the Kneazle asleep in his lap. Most of the spells, like Fiendfyre, he'd known a long time, but some were unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

His eyes scanned the page and rested on the Calefaction Curse, a spell to increase the temperature of the surrounding air without the need for fire. Like an Atmospheric Charm, but far more powerful. He muttered the incantation a few times, then stood up and drew out his wand. The cat flicked its tail in an irritated sort of way, and jumped up on his bed.

"_Calfacto._"

The force of the spell shot through his arm like an electrical chage, discharging into the surrounding air, which became so hot sweat broke out on his forehead.

"_Finite_." Within seconds the dungeon air was cold and draughty again.

He sat down to rest, staring into the fire, thoughts turning to the Selwyn boy and the Corlett girl. Sectumsempra was a bit dangerous, to be sure, but not all the spells in his book were like that. If he were to teach a few to them, they could become more powerful than anyone in their year, so powerful no one would touch them. He could take them under his wing, but not to serve some murderous bastard Dark Lord the way Lucius wanted, or babysit them way Dumbledore wanted, but to watch take their revenge in a way he never could.

He sat and stared at the fire until it burned low, but instead of conjuring another log he set down his book and threw on his cloak. He needed a few plants from the greenhouse to use in class the next day.

Snape was still the youngest member of the staff, and by quite a few years at that. Slipping into his Death Eater robes, plotting, advising, making potions, inventing spells, all of that had come naturally to him, but putting on his black teacher's robes and standing in front of a class and chatting with colleagues in the staff room like an ordinary person felt strange, jarring, like he was onstage and didn't have a clue what any of his lines were.

He couldn't stand it, that feeeling of not knowing what he was doing, of wondering how much they knew about him, so he holed himself up in his office or his bedroom. Filch might drop by with a student in need of some sort of punishment, which was easy enough to deal with. Sometimes Flitwick or Sprout would exchange a few words with him at mealtimes. But he was always quick to get away. On weekends he only came out for meals, and sometimes not even then. The house-elves were useful that way.

But it was impossible to avoid them all completely. There were still staff meetings and chance encounters in the corridors and his trips to the greenhouses for plants to use in Potions. He had enjoyed studying magical plants in Herbology, and kept a few interesting specimens in jars in his office, and he wasn't all that sorry to have a chance to look in the greenhouses from time to time, but he wished Sprout wasn't there when he did.

He knocked on the door to the greenhouse.

"Evening, Professor," said Sprout as she opened the door, as brightly as though he'd just come bearing a fat bag of galleons, and he wondered how she could be so fucking cheerful after working with teenagers all day. He supposed she at least sounded like she was speaking to a colleague and not a student or a convicted criminal.

"You received my request for geranium fangs and shrivelfigs for my Potions students?" he said quietly.

"I did indeed, it'll just be a moment." She bustled away then, and he looked around her office. The air was warm and thick with the smell of earth and water and there were Flitterblooms swaying in pots on her desk and flowers everywhere. He saw a sapling standing beside her desk and bent to examine it, tracing the bark with his fingers.

"Here you are," he heard her say.

"Thank you," he told her, standing up and taking a sack from her. He turned to leave but for some reason he hesitated. He turned to face her.

"I believe that is a Wiggentree sapling you have there?" he said.

"Oh, you recognized it?" said Sprout, beaming. She sounded rather warmer now. "Yes, I started that from seed. Seems like every time I turn my back it's grown another few centimetres."

"It should prove useful once it has matured."

They were both looking at it now, and Sprout ran her fingertips along the buds and down the branches, almost lovingly. "Yes, this should provide some high-quality bark."

"Indeed. I'm sure I'll be making use out of it in a few years."

They stood and looked at it a moment longer, and when they'd stood up and faced each other it occured to him that he didn't have a clue what to say. There was a rather awkward pause.

"Nice fall weather we're having, don't you think?" said Sprout.

"Yes, it's been mild," Snape replied, a bit relieved. The weather was always a reliable topic, if extraordinary dull. Then he realized he had nothing further to say about it.

Fortunately she didn't seem to expect him to. "Well, I suppose I ought to get a bit of work done before turning in," she said, making her way to her desk. "Good night, Professor Snape."

"Good night."

He made his way back across the grounds slowly, listening to the wind in the trees and the hooting of owls. The grounds were different somehow at night, quiet and still; they seemed to hold fewer memories that way.

He was almost back at the castle when he saw two figures walk past, arm in arm. McGonagall by the looks of it, and her husband, some ex-Ministry bloke by the name of Urqhuart. They'd married the year before, but Snape hadn't been at the wedding.

"Evening, Professor Snape," said McGonagall, sounding far more serene than she did in the staff room. Urqhuart inclined his head to him.

"Evening," he said quietly, glancing at the castle in hopes that they would take the hint and not try to make small talk, and to his relief they did.

He heard cursing and shouting as he made his way into the Entrance Hall, and thought he recognized Filch's voice. He'd had quite enough social interaction for one evening and almost passed right by his office, but he'd never heard the man shriek so loudly, and thought he'd better see what was going on.

The caretaker was unleashing a stream of curse words, purple in the face. Snape glanced around his office and saw that parchment had been pulled out of drawers and strewn everywhere; the walls were covered in something green and brown that he didn't want to know about.

"Peeves, you fucking bastard, I'll have you for this-"

Snape cleared his throat and Filch nearly jumped, patches of purple deepening, a bit of spit glistening on the side of his mouth.

"Sorry, Professor, didn't see you there."

"It's quite alright," said Snape. As far as he was concerned Peeves was, in fact, a fucking bastard.

He glanced around the room again. He wondered why Filch wasn't simply using his wand to clear the mess away, unless he couldn't remember how to do it. Then he noticed that Filch wasn't holding one.

The realization came suddenly, like a problem that he'd forgotten he was trying to solve. It all made sense, all those times he'd seen Filch scrubbing down the corridors by hand, all those times he could've dealt with Peeves by magic and hadn't. He was a Squib.

Snape watched the purple-faced man clench his fists and pace the office in his frustation and didn't know what to think. All he'd ever heard was that Squibs were worthless, a drain on society. The Death Eaters had hunted them down as eagerly as they'd hunted down Muggles, and he'd been ordered to torture a few.

Yet Filch's presence in the castle had proven rather useful at times. Snape looked over the wrecked room and felt the smallest twinge of some strange emotion he couldn't identify.

He drew his wand from the pocket of his robes. He didn't need to say any of the incantation aloud; he simply pointed it around the room, and the mess vanished from the walls and the parchment flew back into the filing cabinets. Filch turned to him.

"I, er-thank you, Professor."

"Not at all," said Snape.

Filch paused a moment. "I was just about to sit down to some pork scratchings," he said. "Would you care for some?"

Snape didn't, but he knew that Filch's pride dictated that he do something in return for Snape's help. "Go on then," Snape said, sitting down at Filch's desk. Filch set a plate in front of him. It had been a long time since he'd had pork scratchings, and he'd forgotten how comforting all that grease and salt was.

"I've been after the Headmaster to get rid of that damned poltergeist for years now," said Filch. "But he won't do it. Too soft, if you ask me."

Snape made a small murmer of agreement, but he wondered if perhaps the old man was on to something. Hunting down Peeves gave Filch a mission in life.

"He's better than the students though," Filch went on. "I can't stand children."

"Incorrigible little beasts," said Snape, agreeing wholeheartedly and almost forgetting that he was only a few years older than some of them. Filch grunted appreciatively.

"See, that's what I appreciate about you, Professor. You don't take any shit from any of them."

Snape couldn't help but feel rather chuffed.

He'd had just bent down over his food when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. That stupid cat had somehow found him there. He jumped into Snape's lap and sniffed at his food.

Filch looked down at it. "That your cat?"

"No," said Snape. "Just a stray that wants my food, most likely."

"Oh," said Filch and Snape could tell he didn't believe him. "I just got a cat myself," he said. He made made a soft clicking noise and a scrawny grey kitten jumped into his lap. "Mrs. Norris." He scratched her behind the ears and fed her a pork scratching. "Does yours have a name?"

"Paracelcus," Snape said without thinking. He looked up at Filch and swore under his breath at this sudden lapse. Filch smiled a little.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone," said Snape, with a meaningful look.

"Of course not, Professor," said Filch, and he sounded earnest enough. Snape gave him a slight nod, and he scratched Paracelcus behind the ears as they finished their food.

* * *

Graihagh watched Snape out of the corner of her eye as he strode among the cauldrons, making comments.

"Well done, Mr. Rowle. Five points for Slytherin."

Graihagh glanced over at Thorfinn, who was grinning in that cocky of his. She'd been whispering instructions to him and his Wideye Solution seemed to have turned out all right.

"Exellent work, Miss Travers," he said to Livia.

Graihagh took a skeet at Livia's cauldron and saw that her potion was congealing like sour milk, which was probably why Snape hadn't awarded her any house points.

He reached the table Graihagh and Milo shared. "Nicely done, Mr. Selwyn. That's another five points for Slytherin." Graihagh glanced over at Milo and saw a small smile his face. She reckoned he could use the praise.

Snape looked down into her cauldron. "I suppose this a decent attempt, Miss Corlett."

Graihagh's fingers tightened around her wand. He hadn't criticized her, and that was something, but he could have given her some house points. She'd probably sell a few vials of it before the day was over though, if she could swipe some and stuff it into her robes on time, so there was that.

As soon as Snape started walking towards the back to berate someone for adding to many snake fangs, she had her chance. She scooped up five vials and tucked them into her robes before scooping some into a flask to take up to his desk.

She and Milo had just finished packing up their things when Snape called them up to his desk. Heart pounding, Graihagh glanced at Milo, who gave a bemused sort of shrug, and they made their way up, Graihagh doing her best to look completely innocent, something she was actually sort of good at.

"I was wondering how the term has been going for you so far," he said, his voice cool but strangely lacking in sarcasm.

"Just fine sir," said Milo. Graihagh just stared. There was something weird going on.

Snape did something funny then. He looked right back at Graihagh without blinking, like he was staring her down. Her stomach tightened and it was so intense, so intrusive, she had to look away, even though she knew it made her look guilty. But to her relief he looked away.

"How are your Shield Charms coming along?" he said.

"Erm-" Graihagh and Milo locked eyes, looking guilty. Now that Graihagh was making potions for him, they hadn't really bothered practicing.

"We think we've just about got it, sir," said Graihagh, lying through her teeth.

Snape looked at her sharply. "Do you?" She could tell by his voice that he knew perfectly well she was lying. "Well, why don't we practice them some more?"

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who gave her the smallest shrug. "Yes sir," she said.

"Wands out." They pulled out their wands. "Good. You remember the incantation?" They nodded. "Make sure your movements are firm and decisive. Concentrate. Spellwork is largely a matter of the mind."

Graihagh jabbed her wand and said the incantation. Nothing.

She heard Milo from beside her. "_Protego!" _A jet of light burst from his wand and she saw the air change in front of him, like heat waves.

"Good," said Snape. "Try again, Miss Corlett."

"_Protego!"_ Nothing. She shouted it. "_Protego!_" She saw the jet of light from her own wand and the same heat-like movement in the air.

"Good. This should help you deflect most minor jinxes and hexes," said Snape. He looked at them a long while, as though thinking, his hands moving to the pockets of his robes and resting there. Graihagh tensed a little. Was he pulling out his wand again? After what felt like a minute or two, his hand moved back down to the desk. He was so weird.

"You may go," he said finally.

They left the room and made their way down the dungeon corridors. Graihagh was satisfied with herself and with Milo, that they'd finally managed their Shield Charms, but still, the whole thing seemed strange.

"What do you reckon that was all about?" she said as they made their way to their next class. "I mean, why does he care? I thought he hated everyone."

"Don't know," said Milo. "He seems to like some of us."

"Yeah," she said. "You, and Thorfinn and Livia..." she stopped.

Milo glanced around, looking alarmed. "What?"

"Well, it's just...all the people he seems to like were big You-Know-Who supporters, weren't they?" She looked sideways at Milo. "Was your family?"

"My father wasn't," he said.

That made sense. Milo had been happy when the war ended.

They'd reached the Charms classroom, and Graihagh smiled over at Cate, who was sitting next to Theodora. She pulled out her quill and parchment and pretended to take notes, but really she was reading the Potions textbook on her lap.

"Miss Corlett?" Graihagh's head shot up. Flitwick was looking at her. "Can you tell us the incantation for a Freezing Charm?"

Graihagh glanced around. Everyone was looking at her and she didn't have a bloody clue. "Erm-_freezus maximus?"_

Theodora rolled her eyes and Cate shot her a look of sympathy.

"It's _Glacius,_ Miss Corlett," Flitwick squeaked. "Please pay attention."

"Yes sir," said Graihagh, and she put the Potions textbook away and tried to pay attention.

When class had ended, Graihagh walked to the courtyard with Cate and Theodora and Milo for break. Theodora gave her a sideways look and Graihagh got ready to make a sharp remark if she said one word about what had just happened, but she didn't.

Thorfinn and his friends gave her a little nod as she passed them in the courtyard, and a fifth-year came up to her.

"Oh, I've got your Wideye Potion," she told him, reaching into her bag and handing him the vial. He handed her two sickles and she put them in her pocket, which had a nice jingly sound.

Once word got around the common room about her potion-making, she started getting requests for potions she could make, like Girding Solution and Wit-Sharpening Solution and Wideye Potion. But there was a problem; she didn't have enough ingredients, or enough vials. She'd had to start ordering more by owl, and since she only had so much money, she decided to start charging, just enough to cover her costs earn herself a little pocket change. Sometimes she had to swipe good-sized batches of ingredients out of the student cupboard, but Snape had never set a limit on how much they could take, so she didn't consider it stealing.

Theodora's eyes widened. "Are you selling potions?"

Graihagh didn't see what she was so indignant about. "Yeah, I am," she said, and she could hear the heat in her voice already.

"Don't you think that's a bit dishonest?"

Graihagh opened her mouth to say something, but Cate cut in over the sugar quill she was chewing on. "She's not charging them much," she said, loyal as always, but Graihagh thought she sounded a little too earnest, the way she did when she was trying to defend somebody who was a total loser.

"And we don't know that they're using them to cheat," Graihagh pointed out. "For all we know they're just using them to stay up and finish homework." She wasn't entirely sure whether it was cheating if the Quidditch team used her potions, and decided not to mention it.

Theodora didn't seem convinced. "What if you brew them incorrectly? Somebody could get sick."

The thought had occured to Graihagh, but she didn't like to dwell on it. "I always check it to make sure I've got it right."

"I still think it's a really bad idea."

"Well, nobody asked you for your swotty little opinion did they? Why don't you just go and stick your nose in someone else's business?"

"Well excuse me for having a well-developed sense of ethics. Although I suppose being in Slytherin you couldn't really be expected to, could you?"

Graihagh's face was getting hot and her voice rose. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just shut up, both of you, you're doing me head in," said Cate, and they turned to look at her. She looked almost angry, and the sight of it was enough to shock them into a rather surly silence. Graihagh glanced at Milo and saw that he had his hands in the pockets of his robes and was looking away from them. She decided not to mention that she'd been making the potions for him.

"Just be careful," said Cate, taking another bite of her sugar quill.

"I will," said Graihagh.

The bell rang and they parted ways, Cate and Theodora making their way to the greenhouses for Herbology and she and Milo going back inside the castle. They stopped near the hourglasses and Graihagh glanced around and handed Milo a vial. He uncapped it and took a swig, then handed some to her. He got her potions free of charge.

They were walking through a first-floor corridor when they heard fast footfalls behind them.

Milo whipped around just as Graihagh did the same, and they shouted almost in unison. _"Protego!"_

Their hexes never hit them. In the few seconds that Fenwick and McCulloch looked taken aback, she and Milo legged it, not stopping until they were several floors above. They leaned against the wall, Graihagh bent over and resting her arms on her legs.

"Well, that Shield Charm was sort of useful, wasn't it?" she said when she'd caught her breath.

"Yeah, I suppose," said Milo. He slumped down and sat against the wall, resting his hands on his knees.

Graihagh sat down next to him. "What's wrong?"

Milo glanced at her and then stared at the wall. "I wish he'd teach us something more powerful than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I want to get them back."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

She wondered if Snape would teach them. But she was almost afraid to ask.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Thanks for reading, and thank you to everyone who has favorited/followed!

* * *

Snape hated Christmas. As a child he could always time its approach by the increase in shouting matches and the number of nights his father would come home drunk. There'd be a tense sort of silence on Christmas day as they tried to patch things up for the holiday and a small toy or book at the foot of his bed and they'd have dinner. One year he'd gotten a set of Gobstones from his mother and they'd had to lie to his father and tell him they were a Muggle toy.

The only happy Christmases were the ones he'd spent with Lily. Her parents would have sweet bread and hot chocolate for him and there would be Muggle Christmas records playing as he and Lily sat on the sofa by the Christmas tree and exchanged gifts. Sometimes they were sweets, but there were a few things she'd given him that he'd saved, a luxury quill and his favourite, a book on counter-curses and anti-jinxes that she'd gotten him in their fourth year. Inside the front cover she'd written him a message, in that sprawling writing of hers. _Merry Christmas Sev! Love, Lily. _ He kept it in his bedside drawer with his photographs of her.

Most of the students left for the Christmas holidays, and Snape found the quiet both welcome and unbearable. When his room became too confining and his head too full he'd walk the silent corridors alone, as though all those steps could put some distance between him and his thoughts.

He thought his grief would start to go away over time, but it was like waves, coming and going, sometimes blindsiding him with their ferocity. This Christmas was hitting him particularly hard, and he didn't know why.

He couldn't remember which classroom he'd found the mirror in the year before. He looked into every single classroom he passed, hoping to catch a glimpse of it, to hell with what Dumbledore might think.

He was walking through a seventh-floor corridor two days before Christmas when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned his head he saw that a simple wooden door had appeared in the wall.

He'd always liked these spontaneous, almost sentient bursts of magic, as though the castle had a mind of its own. He opened the door and walked inside and his heart was in his throat.

Lily. She had her arm around him and she was laughing.

Without even really thinking he touched his shoulder. But he felt only bony prominence that was entirely his own. He would have cut off his arms and watched them burn for one more second with her.

He stayed there all day, and the next, until by the next night he was so faint from hunger bright lights flashed in his eyes when he stood up and his head pounded.

_I need something to eat._

A plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding appeared on a table behind him and Snape shoveled the food into his mouth before sitting in front of the mirror again. Undoubtedly it was part of the magic of this room, that it would provide whatever he needed. And Dumbledore would never find him, not this time.

He could sit here until he died.

He didn't remember falling asleep. He was swinging with her on the playground, only he was in her, he was her-and he was jumping off and flying into the air-

_Crack._

Snape shot up. An elf was standing over him, looking into his face.

"What the bloody hell do you want?" Snape snarled.

The elf's ears drooped back like a scolded dog. "Master Dumbledore sent me to finds you, sir," he croaked.

Of course he would, of course he knew what had happened, the omniscient bastard.

"Tell him to fuck off."

The elf didn't move. "Master Dumbledore says not to leave you alone until you comes out, sir."

Of course he did.

"Well you'll have to drag me out because I'm not leaving."

"If you wish, sir."

Snape had no idea how it happpened, but before he could stop him the elf had grabbed him around the waist and with a sensation like being sucked through a straw he found himself in the seventh floor corridor, the elf's arms still wrapped around him.

"What the hell-"

"Ah, Severus. I was hoping to run into you."

Dumbledore was standing there in robes of bright red and neon green, looking like some sort of psychedelic Father Christmas. That eccentric, omniscient piece of-

"Why don't you join us for the Christmas feast this year, Severus?"

"I-what?"

"I think it would do you some good," he said, with a look that was far too knowing. There was a long pause and Snape tensed, ready to hear the scolding that was undoubtedly coming.

"You know," he went on,"I remember a time when I was a young man, at the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo. My friend Nicolas kept asking me to ride camels by moonlight, but I kept turning him down. 'Too much work to do,' I said. Well, somehow he finally managed to persuade me."

Snape was too taken aback by this utterly nonsensical story to be angry. "And you had an enjoyable time?"

"No, I fell off and broke my femur. But I think you would have an enjoyable time at the feast, Severus. So why don't you join us?"

Snape opened his mouth to object, but Dumbledore got there first. "Excellent," he said. "Come, we'll go together."

And so Snape found himself walking up the stairs into the Entrance Hall on the way to the feast, and thoroughly enraged about it. He never could understand how the old man did it.

The Great Hall was decorated with twelve enormous Christmas trees, and there were wreaths and poinsettias in the centre of the table. It wasn't unpleasant to look at, but he hated all the memories it dredged up, hated all the forced cheer and trite sentiments that went with it, all that bollocks about peace and goodwill that no one really meant or they'd just be peaceful and good all year long.

"Ah, Professor Snape, a very happy Christmas to you!" said Flitwick, who was wearing a ridiculous hat covered in lurid flowers and ghastly-looking birds of paradise.

"Happy Christmas, Professor," Snape said through clenched teeth, trying not to glare at everyone. The Great Hall was nearly empty; only Hagrid, Filch, Sprout, and Flitwick were sitting with him and Dumbledore at the staff table. Some students had stayed for the holidays, including handful of Slytherins.

Enormous turkeys and plates full of gravy and mash and cranberry sauce and all sorts of other things appeared. Dumbledore, Flitwick and Sprout broke into conversation, as friendly and cheerful as ever, while he sat in an irritated silence and tried to tell them with his body language that they weren't to say a word to him. Sprout was busy admiring the enchanted snow that had started to fall from the ceiling.

"You've outdone yourself with the decorations as always, Filius," she said in her relentlessly cheerful way. "Is that an Atmospheric Charm you've used?"

Flitwick looked chuffed. "It's a special type of enchanted snow," he said. "It'll fade as soon as it touches anything. I didn't want us getting cold and wet by the end of the feast!"

When Snape was younger he and his friends had considered Flitwick a pushover and a lightweight, but he was beginning to wonder if this was really true. It was an impressive bit of magic that he'd done.

"I suppose you used an Herbivicus Charm on these poinsettias?" said Sprout, putting her fork down and pinching them between her fingers.

"I did indeed," squeaked Flitwick.

Snape sometimes used poinsettias in his potions, and he opened his mouth before he could stop himself. "Do you grow them?"

For just a second Sprout looked taken aback that he'd actually spoken to her, then she smiled. "I usually like to keep a few in my greenhouses," she said. "They have healing properties, I believe."

"Yes, they're used in Fever-Reducing Solution," said Snape. Sprout started to talk about her plants and Flitwick and Dumbledore got into a lively discussion about an article in the latest issue of _Challenges in Charming_ and he was starting to become slightly more comfortable sitting there listening to them talk magic, so much he almost forgot the mirror. Almost.

There was nothing stopping him going back there as soon as he was finished.

He was working on his Christmas pudding when he heard Dumbledore clear his throat. He'd stayed for Christmas his sixth and seventh years and had a feeling he knew what this was about, and wondered if there was a way for him to cover his ears without anyone noticing.

"Now that we're all full from that delicious feast, perhaps you'd like to join me in a few Christmas carols," Dumbledore said. He was beaming.

Somehow Snape managed to endure "Good King Wecenslas," "Away in a Manger," and "Joy to the World" and thought perhaps Dumbledore would leave it there.

"Ah, beautiful," he said, and Snape thought his eyes were rather bright and wondered how much he'd had to drink. "And now, a personal favourite of mine, 'I Want a Hippopatomus for Christmas.'"

As Snape sat there trying to hide his irritation he noticed that only a few other people knew the words, including the Corlett girl, who was singing loudly and off-key.

After they'd finished people started stretching and getting out of their seats and it was finally polite for him to leave.

"Severus."

Snape turned around to see Dumbledore. He had something in his hand.

"A Christmas gift for you," he said, with another long look.

Snape was so surprised he didn't say anything, and made his way through the Entrance Hall. Peeves was zooming past, flinging glass baubles against the walls.

When he got to his room he took off his boots and sat down on his bed, absently scratching Paracelcus behind the ears and pulling the book Lily had given him out of the drawer in his bedside table. He traced the words she had written him with his fingers and brought the page close to him, as though he could smell her and breathe her in.

He looked at it so long he almost forgot Dumbledore's gift. He picked it up and unwrapped the ribbon on the card that was attached.

_I found these among Lily's possessions. She never forgot her old friend._

_Happy Christmas,_

_Albus_

Fingers shaking, he fumbled with the wrapping until it was off. Inside was a box.

He didn't want to see what was in it. But he had to.

There were three of them. A photograph of the two of them sitting on her sofa at Christmas. A photograph of them in her back garden with a frog they'd caught. And the last one, a photograph of the two of them in their school robes, standing in the courtyard, arms around each other. The only wizarding photograph of them, the only one that had been taken at Hogwarts. Lily's mouth was moving like she was telling a story, and Snape was bent over laughing, his hair falling into his face.

After all that had happened, she'd still looked at these photographs. She'd still thought about him.

The photographs became too blurry for him to see. He tucked them into his bedside drawer.

The old man must've had some reason for doing this. He must have suspected that his loyalty wasn't absolute. That he didn't understand what he was doing. That he wanted to wake up in another life. That sometimes he just wanted to die.

_He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and colour of Lily Evan's eyes, I'm sure?_He gripped his pillow like a piece of flotsam and prayed that her eyes would guide him wherever he needed to go.

* * *

The common room was nearly empty, but it didn't sound like it to Graihagh. Fireworks exploded and people shouted and a flock of titmouse birds flew out of a Christmas cracker. She was sitting in her usual spot, Scooter in her lap, eating a piece of Bonnag her granny had sent her. It smelled like her house, and she tried not to think of her too much, tried to remember how much fun the feast had been, especially when Dumbledore had started singing with his ridiculous hat on. She'd gotten a cracker hat too, which had a sad-looking turkey on it.

She'd decided to stay over the holidays and do some more potion brewing, and as she sat and ate she took a skeet at the Wit-Sharpening Potion simmering away in her cauldron. The fifth-and-seventh years were buying it off her like it was Butterbeer. Most of the money she made went into more ingredients, but she still had to swipe some from the student cupboard. Maybe it wasn't entirely honest, she didn't know, but it did increase her profit margins.

She glanced up to see Milo settling into his usual spot next to her. He had stayed over Christmas break too and they'd chatted over the Christmas feast. Graihagh handed him a piece of bonnag and they were quiet awhile, chewing.

"Do you usually go home for Christmas?" she asked him through a mouthful.

"The last two years I did, yeah."

"Did your parents go on holiday this year?"

"No. But they're usually busy around Christmas. Lots of parties and engagements and such."

Graihagh thought she understood what he was getting at. It was quiet at his house, and maybe a bit lonely. She wasn't sure what to say, but she could tell by the way he was sitting on the edge of his chair and looking at her that he was going to ask her something.

"So...have you tried making Strengthening Solution yet?" he asked her, keeping his voice low.

That was a funny sort of coincidence, because she'd been working on it for weeks. It was O.W.L standard but she thought she might be able to do it.

"I've had a crack at it," she said. "I think I might get it soon." She understood him, as she usually did.

He nodded and leaned in closer to her, even though everyone else was making so much noise she doubted they could hear him.

"You know what I've always wanted to do?" he asked her, the words coming faster, louder.

"What's that?" Graihagh asked him, popping another piece of bonnag into her mouth, chuffed that he was confiding in her.

"Play Quidditch. I mean, for Slytherin." Graihagh looked at him in surprise, a bit sorry for him. Unless he had some sort of massive growth spurt, she didn't see how he'd ever make the team. Unless...

"You mean?" she said, giving him a knowing look. He nodded.

"Just, you know, until I get some experience. Then I can do it on my own."

She wasn't sure what to think, at first. But then images flashed in her mind, images of Milo standing up to his bullies, of him walking onto the pitch in his green and silver robes, face flushed with pride, the crowds roaring. She had the power to make it all happen. She grinned at him, and he smiled back at her.

"Do you want to go for a walk with me in the grounds?" he asked.

"Sure. Let me just get my cloak and mitts."

They made their way outside the castle. The moon was out and the snow was glowing.

"It's nice, isn't it?" said Graihagh, looking out over the grounds.

"Yeah, it is," said Milo. "Does it snow in the Isle of Man?"

"Sometimes. But it doesn't usually stick."

She was quiet awhile, remembering the time when it snowed so hard they closed all the schools, and her granny braved the icy footpaths to spend the day with her, baking ginger cake and drinking hot chocolate and swapping stories about how much they hated school. She and her dad hadn't sounded too disappointed in their letter, but she knew they were, and she was starting to wonder if she should've gone home.

"Does it snow where you live?" she asked him, trying to distract herself.

"Not like this."

They made a path through the snow as they walked to the lake, not saying much, just enjoying the quiet and the sight of the moonlight on the snow. She heard a noise in the distance, the stamping and snorting of one of Hagrid's Hippogriffs maybe, and it reminded her of something.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What's that?" They'd stopped by the frozen lake, and Milo looked out over it.

"Is there a reason you can see Thestrals?"

Milo was quiet so long she didn't think he was going to answer. "My grandfather," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said. She put her hand out but thought better of it and kept it at her side. "Were you close?"

"We did stuff together all the time."

"You must miss him then."

"Yeah." He shifted a bit. "So did you find out the score of that Wasps vs. Bats match?"

"Oh yeah. The Wasps flattened them," said Graihagh, keeping her voice as casual as she could, without a hint of pity, because she knew he just needed to feel normal. "Total fluke, if you ask me," she added, catching his eye and smiling a little. The Bats were her favourite team.

They made their way back to the castle, talking Quidditch, and by the time they'd gotten back to the common room and Graihagh had taken off her mitts and cloak she was tired, so she turned in.

As soon as she'd dressed the next morning and made her way down to the common room she scooped up the Wit-Sharpening solution and siphoned it into vials, and got out the ingredients for Strengthening Solution.

She loved the work, as she always did, but she wasn't the only one up. There was already a game of Exploding Snap on and lots of loud talking. She had trouble focusing when there was noise in the background. Snape had never said whether or not they could use the Potions classroom outside of class, so she tucked her potions kit into her robes and made her way through the dungeon corridors. The classroom was absolutely still.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been working when she saw a swish of black out of the corner of her eye. Snape was standing there in his black robes, dark circles under his eyes, hair dishevelled, looking like her goth cousin when he stumbled home at 7 in the morning after an all-nighter at the Batcave.

"What are you doing in here, Miss Corlett?"

Graihagh tensed. Snape had looked so miserable during the feast she thought he'd just hole up in his room the rest of the holiday. "I was just making some potion, sir," she said, trying to sound offhand.

He stepped over and looked down into her cauldron. "Strengthening Solution?"

"Yes sir."

He looked at her in that intense way of his, but his expression was hard to read.

"And where did you get the ingredients for this?"

She glanced towards the student cupboard. "Well, I thought it was okay to take things from the student cupboard..."

"I suppose it is," he said. "So long as you take only what you need."

He'd put a bit too much stress on those last four words. Graihagh nodded and tried to look innocent.

"Did you know that's an O.W.L standard potion you're attempting?" Graihagh nodded. "Well, we'll see how it turns out." He sounded skeptical, which made Graihagh all the more determined to get it right, and all the more afraid she wouldn't.

He sat down at his desk, and Graihagh knew it was so he could watch that she didn't swipe more ingredients from the student cupboard. She tried to tune him out.

She was bent over her cauldron adding powdered griffin claw when there was a soft mewling, and she looked up to see a raggedy-looking cat standing in the doorway. To her amazement, it walked right over to Snape's desk.

"Is that your cat sir?"

"Just a stray," he said without looking up.

The cat jumped into his lap and started purring. Graihagh stared at him.

"What are you looking at, Miss Corlett?"

"Nothing," said Graihagh quickly. Snape was weird.

But there was no getting around the fact that he knew what she was making. She wondered how she'd ever get away with it now.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **If you're reading this chapter for the first time just disregard this :) For all those who've already read it, I want to apologize for that random word in the middle of it. One of my kids wanted me to add that in there and I completely forgot to take it out. I'll be more careful of that in the future. Thanks for reading!

* * *

It was one of those unfortunate realities, that brilliance simply could not be taught. Snape could spend hours writing down the exact instructions, demonstrating the proper technique, providing the finest ingredients, but he couldn't give his students that intuition, that stroke of genius that separated the accomplished potioneer from the great unwashed masses who simply chucked things into a cauldron like a todder might throw sticks and leaves into a jar. Most of them didn't have a clue how to make anything resembling a decent potion. The only way he could think of to prepare them for their O.W.L.s was to criticize every single thing they did wrong.

And so he would stride around the classroom, peering down at cauldrons and pointing out their mistakes. He sensed his students' nervousness as he did this and couldn't help but enjoy it.

His third-year Slytherins were decent enough, for the most part, as were a few of the Gryffindors, but the rest of the class was completely hopeless. He peered down into a cauldron full of some watery-looking mixture he couldn't even identify and looked up to see a red-faced boy who was squeezing a leech between his fingers.

"It's a pity this potion can't be as thick as your head, Mr. Collins," he told him. He saw a dark look cross the boy's face but there was nothing he could do about it unless he wanted detention.

"You're adding too much leech juice," he said to a Slytherin girl. He looked over at the girl next to her.

"I said to mince those daisy roots, don't just throw them into the cauldron, a three-year-old could do that."

Having given nearly everyone in the room the benefit of his professional opinion, he made his way to the front, stopping to see how the Selwyn boy and the Corlett girl had done. Her potion looked just as it should, but he didn't award her any house points this time. He didn't dislike her as he once had, but he knew perfectly well she was making potions outside of class, he'd seen that some of his ingredients were lower than usual, and it didn't take a genius such as himself to put the two together.

This class was his last for the day, and when he'd dismissed them he packed up his things and made his way back to his office to work awhile before dinner. He'd almost reached his office when he heard some sort of commotion down the corridor and strode over to see what it was.

He stopped a few yards away and stared. The Selwyn boy had Fenwick and McCulloch pinned against the wall, one hand on each chest, as easily as though they were made of stuffing. McCulloch's eyes darted up to Snape, and Selwyn turned his head and looked at him, mouth open.

It was as though he was seeing himself pinning Potter and Black, and he swelled with something like triumph.

"Put it away, Mr. Selwyn," he said, not unkindly. The boy lowered his wand and tucked it into his robes.

"Go," he told the other two. They took off running down the corridor, robes billowing, and didn't look back at him.

Selwyn's face was earnest, apologetic. "I'm sorry sir, I-"

"There's no need to explain," said Snape, his voice much softer than usual. "There will be no punishment."

"I-thank you sir," said the boy. He glanced over at the Corlett girl, who was standing nearby, a completely unconvincing look of puzzlement on her face. She needn't have bothered trying to cover it up, Snape knew perfectly well what had just happened.

"Come with me," he told her. She glanced back at the Selwyn boy, who shrugged, and trailed along behind him.

"Inside," he said when they'd reached his office. He closed the door behind them and her eyes darted around the room as though looking for an escape route.

He stood and looked at her a moment, considering what to do. One the one hand, she'd successfully made an O.W.L standard potion and helped her friend get revenge. On the other ha, she was an insolent little chit who deserved a week's worth of detentions.

"Turn out your pockets," he said.

She stood there a second, looking like a cartoon villain in a searchlight he'd seen once on Lily's parents' old 14-inch black and white. He narrowed his eyes at her and slowly, reluctantly, she pulled out two bags of ingredients, six vials of potion, and fourteen sickles.

He pinched one of the vials between his fingers and examined it in the dim light. "Wit-Sharpening Potion," he said. "Well, given what I've seen of most of your marks I don't doubt that you need it,"-the girl scowled at this-" but six vials?"

"Well...you know...I use it a lot."

Selling potions and lying about it to avoid trouble. How very Slytherin. He might not have minded it so much if it hadn't been his stores she was pilfering from. Student ingredients were paid for by the school of course, but he still thought of them as his.

"You may fancy yourself a budding entrepeneur, Miss Corlett," he said quietly, "but if I ever catch you taking extra ingredients from my stores you will be in serious trouble. And should anyone become ill from one of your potions you face expulsion from this school, do I make myself plain?"

The girl swallowed hard and nodded.

"As it is I am giving you three days of detention, starting this evening."

The girl swallowed again. "May I go now sir?" she said in a rather small voice. Snape nodded and the girl turned to leave.

"Miss Corlett." She turned to face him.

"If you were to continue making the Strengthening Solution for your friend...I won't say anything about it. Just be very careful, do you understand?"

She looked startled, but she seemed to understand. She gave a small nod and left.

Snape sat down and pulled out a stack of papers that needed marking, but he just looked down at them without really seeing anything. He'd been about her age, or perhaps a bit younger, when he'd tried making his own Strengthening Solution, but Potter and his friends were always too quick for him. He wondered if things would have been different, if he'd been able to pin them against the wall the way the Selwyn boy had.

There was a rap on the door as sharp as McGonagall's voice and Snape looked up from his desk to see her clutching the arm of the Rowle boy.

"I just caught one of your students attempting to hex Mr. Weasley," she snapped.

The boy didn't even try to look innocent, just stood there wearing a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it smirk that reminded him vividly of Potter and Black.

But McGonagall was watching, and he wasn't going to punish him too harshly. "Twenty lines," he said, looking back down at his papers and hoping McGonagall would go away.

She made a disapproving noise as she left the room, and the boy sat down opposite him and pulled out a quill.

Snape gave him a piece of parchment and Rowle set his quill to it with a flourish, his large sloppy letters sprawled across the surface.

"I'm all out of room sir," he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Snape looked down and saw that he'd written only six lines. The self-satisfied little toerag.

He gripped his own quill harder and thrust another piece of parchment at him. "Try again," he said through clenched teeth.

Perhaps he knew that Snape wasn't someone to be trifled with-Snape certainly hoped so-because the smile faded from his face and he set to work again. After a few minutes the sound of the quill stopped and Snape looked up to see the boy staring at his book, the one on Dark curses he'd bought in Knockturn Alley. He'd left it sitting on his desk.

"Nice book, sir," the boy said, with a look that was far too knowing.

Snape just looked back at him. He understood how fascinating it must've been, to someone like him, and yet there was something about it that made him uneasy, something he couldn't explain, not even to himself.

He gave the boy a curt nod to show he'd heard him, and went back to work, and to his relief Rowle went back to his lines.

"I'm finished sir," he said after a few minutes. He handed the parchment back to Snape, and that's when the boy's sleeve fell back and Snape caught a glimpse of his forearm.

There was a small, neat scar in his skin that looked like it'd been made with a knife, and with a jolt Snape remembered a deserted dungeon classroom in his first year, and Lucius cutting his arm.

"Sir?"

Snape's head shot up. The boy didn't seem to have noticed anything.

"Can I go now sir?"

For a moment Snape just looked into his smooth young face. He could question him, find out what he was up to, find out if it was the thing he thought it was.

"Yes. You may go," he said. He thought perhaps he didn't want to know.

* * *

Graihagh sighed with relief when the owl swooped down in front of her with a package from the apothecary in Diagon Alley. She'd had to raise her prices now that she was buying all her ingredients, but she'd been playing with fire, swiping them out of Snape's cupboard. She pushed her bowl of cornflakes in front of the owl and hurried into her dormitory to put the packages in her trunk before morning classes.

She was fidgety and distracted all day, even more than usual, and didn't pay attention to a thing the teachers were saying, even when McGonagall took ten points from Slytherin and Professor Kettleburn chided her for letting her imp get away and Sprout shook her head when the bouncing bulbs she was supposed to be re-potting got loose and whacked her repeatedly on the head. All she could think about was sitting next to Rajiv in the Three Broomsticks with a warm Butterbeer, in one of those corner booths were they'd be wedged so close together they were touching.

She couldn't stop looking at him during the music class they had together. She loved his smooth face, his soft lips, his broad shoulders. She was keyed up and fluttery and belted out her part with gusto even though she wasn't all that great of a singer. She'd been placed with the altos, girls with pleasant low voices who could sing harmony parts, though Graihagh had a sneaking suspicion she'd been put there because she couldn't hit the high notes.

The second she was finished breakfast the next morning, she went to the dormitory to get her cloak and scarf, and when she walked back into the common room Milo was waiting for her.

"Want to walk to Hogsmeade with me?" he said.

Graihagh looked back into his anxious face and wasn't sure what to think. He'd stayed behind the first two times, and she didn't think he'd want to come this time. She wondered if her potions had given him more confidence.

"I told Cate I'd go with her, but why don't you come with us? She's really nice."

"Yeah. Alright," he said, and together they made their way into the Entrance Hall, where Cate was waiting, wearing a Muggle jumper and jeans.

"You must be Milo," she said, flashing him a smile.

"Yeah. Nice to meet you," said Milo, giving her a small nod. He had his hands tucked in the pockets of his robes.

"So you're a Wasps fan, then?" she said as they made their way out of the castle. "I've heard they're really good. I love watching Quidditch, but I'm a lousy flier, my first flying lesson I fell off when I was eight feet above the ground and had to go to the hospital wing. Oh, and this one time I somehow ended up crashing in the Black Lake and the giant squid had to help me get to shore 'cause I'm a terrible swimmer, which is weird because I've been to the sea a lot of times..."

Cate kept chatting away and Milo glanced sideways at Graihagh, who just shrugged and smiled. He'd get used to her.

The sun was bright and the grass had turned green but the wind whipped their faces and crept under their cloaks they pulled them tighter around themselves until they got to Zonko's, Graihagh's favourite shop.

She walked up and down the aisles, looking along every shelf she passed. "Frogspawn soap! I'm buying five of these."

"I think I'll get some too," said Milo.

"Check out these trick mirrors," said Cate from behind her. "This one screams at you."

"Brilliant," said Graihagh. "I should put one in my dormitory." Livia Travers had the bed next to Graihagh's and Graihagh had taken to keeping her hangings closed because Livia kept looking over at her and smirking. The mirror would be perfect for her.

She and Cate and Milo loaded up on merchandise and headed to Honeydukes, Cate's favourite shop, where they started stocking up on Fizzing Whizbees, Pepper Imps and Every-Flavour Beans and it was only when she'd set her bags on the counter that Cate realized she didn't have enough pocket change left.

"I'll treat," said Graihagh, plopping three galleons on the counter. She had so many stacks of coins she'd started feeling like Scrooge McDuck and felt good to do something nice with them.

The wind went right through them as they walked down the high street, so their next stop was The Three Broomsticks, and just as she'd hoped, Rajiv was sitting at a table with a group of other Hufflepuff third-years. He smiled and nodded to them as they made their way over, bags banging against their legs. Theodora glanced at her but didn't smile.

"The cracking young Potioneer," Rajiv said as she sat down. Graihagh flashed a grin at him.

Madam Rosmerta came by and Graihagh ordered Butterbeers for her and Cate. It was her favourite drink.

"So how are things with the Slytherins? Cheated on any exams lately?" Rajiv's expression was deadpan but Graihagh knew he was teasing her.

"No, we're too busy trying to take over the world, didn't you know?" Graihagh shot back. Rajiv smiled at her over his Butterbeer. Milo, she noticed, was quiet.

"Well, you're taking over the Quidditch pitch anyway," said another boy who was sitting next to Rajiv. He had a Chudley Cannons badge pinned to his Cannons jumper and had accessorized the outfit with a Cannons hat."The way your team flattened Ravenclaw in that last match."

The joke about cheating was fresh enough in her mind that Graihagh's face grew hot, even though she wasn't sure it really was cheating if the Slytherin team used her Girding Potion. Probably all the pros took it.

"I reckon our chances against Gryffindor are decent this year," said Rajiv.

Graihagh thought the prospect of Hufflepuff beating Gryffindor about as likely as Snape bringing a guitar to class and singing "Blowin' in the Wind," but she didn't want to make him feel bad.

"Yeah, their Seeker isn't all that great," she said. "Yours is better."

Rajiv gave her another smile, then looked over at Milo. "So, you support Wimbourne then?" he said, noticing his badge.

"Yeah," Milo said. "They've got a great Beater."

"Bagman? He's good, but I think he's past his prime."

Graihagh wasn't sure Milo was going to say anything to this, but to her surprise he spoke up. "I don't know...I think he's been consistent this season," he said.

They started swapping stats then, and Graihagh looked over at Cate and smiled. Milo was starting to come out of his shell.

"Do you play?" Rajiv asked him.

"No, but...I might try out next year," said Milo. Graihagh could tell he was trying not to look at her.

"Didn't you just get a new Seeker last year?"

Milo's forehead creased. "What do you mean?"

"I just meant-no offense mate, but you're sort of on the small side to be playing anything else."

Milo slammed his mug onto the table. "Are you taking the mickey?"

Rajiv looked startled. "No, I was just surprised, that's all."

"I can play, you know. I'm a good flier."

"I'm sorry, mate. I didn't mean anything by it."

Rajiv locked eyes with his friend, who quickly changed the subject, and Milo didn't say a whole lot after that, not even when they walked back to the castle together and it was just the three of them.

"I'm joining Cate after, want to come?" said Graihagh as they sat down at the Slytherin table for dinner.

"No, that's alright," he said, without looking at her. "I've got a lot of homework."

"Are you-"

"I'm sure," he said, and there was an edge to his voice now. Graihagh didn't say anything more.

He seemed annoyed with her, and she didn't know why. She tried not to think about it as she made her way to the basement staircase, where Cate was waiting for her on the bottom step.

She tossed her a bag of sweets."Thanks for treating," she said.

"No problem," said Graihagh, fishing out a Chocoball. She popped it into her mouth. "So does Rajiv ever mention me or anything?" she asked, trying to sound offhand.

Cate gave her a knowing look. "He might have a couple of times. Said you were a big help with essays and all that."

Graihagh couldn't stop herself grinning, but Cate's expression turned serious.

"A lot of girls fancy him," she said. Graihagh knew this was her nice way of telling her he was out of her league, and she was both annoyed and grateful.

They sat awhile just chewing on their sweets, and Graihagh propped her head in her hands, thinking about what a long shot it was. She didn't think she was terrible looking, sort of average really, but her features were sharp and her chest was sort of flat and she still hated brushing her hair.

"I'll tell you something" Cate said, leaning in closer. "I fancy his friend Colin."

Graihagh leaned forwards with her. "The one in the Cannons hat?"

Cate's face reddened, but her smile faltered. "But he fancies someone else. He told me when I asked him to go on a date."

"You went up to him and asked him on a date?"

Cate turned even redder. "Yeah, I know, that was stupid."

"No," said Graihagh. "I think it was really brave actually."

Graihagh sat back and chewed another piece of chocolate, thinking about Rajiv, and even Cate was quiet. Graihagh thought she was watching her sort of sympathetically.

"Tell you what" said Cate, leaning forwards and rocking on her hands, with that manic gleam in her eyes she got whenever she had an idea. "How about we put that frogspawn soap in the girl's toilets up on third?"

Cate always knew just how to cheer her up. Graihagh wiped her chocolately hands on her robes and stood up. "Let's do it then."

They had just put their last bar of soap in the sink when they heard Filch's shuffling footsteps and had to leg it back down to their common rooms. Graihagh stopped at the entrance, clutching a stitch in her side and looking for Milo. He was sitting in their usual spot in the corner, looking over at Thorfinn and his friends with a face full of longing. Graihagh understood exactly how he felt.


	21. Chapter 21

Snape hadn't left his bed in days. His hair was lank and oily and it'd started to itch. His damp nightshirt stuck to his skin and the sheets and pillowcase smelled of sweat and spit.

There was a strip of light on the soot-grey wall when he woke up but he didn't know what time it was.

He thought he could hear a faint tapping at the window, like a tree branch blown by the wind, only there weren't any trees in Spinner's End. Rain maybe, or hail. He closed his eyes again.

The tapping got harder, more insistent, like something sentient, and when it got too loud for him to ignore he sat up and yanked back his curtains. An eagle owl was hovering outside, clutching an envelope in its beak.

When he'd taken it from him and sat back down on his bed he slit it open with a fingernail and skimmed the letter inside. Lucius was hosting a garden party, and had requested that he come early for drinks.

The outside world was like some black-and-white Muggle film playing in the background, something so outside his own mind it was strange to think of something like a party existing. He sat and stared out the window.

He just wanted to stay in his room and sleep. He didn't see the point in getting up and going out. He'd probably just say something stupid and make a fool of himself anyway.

But it would seem suspicious if he didn't come. Damn them.

He scratched out a reply and went over to his dresser, where Apollo was sleeping in an open cage.

"Well, I finally have a job for you," he murmured to him, stroking his head with one finger. He was fond of the creature, having never had an owl growing up. Apollo opened his eyes slowly and gave him a rather reproachful look, as if to say, "about time." Snape placed the parchment in its beak and with gave it another tap on the head, and it flew off through the open window.

He looked around for Paracelcus and found him curled up at the foot of the bed. They could fend for themselves, Kneazles, but Snape supposed he ought to feed him, just the same. He made his way down to the kitchen and put some food in his dish. He ate so quickly that Snape felt guilty.

Standing up, walking, caring for his animals, these were simple things, but they lifted some of the fog in his brain and he went back upstairs to wash and put on clean robes. His head was still heavy but he was surprised at how good it felt to be clean.

He made his way to the kitchen, where there was a vial of potion sitting on the countertop, one he used sometimes when his head got too heavy. He took a swig and waited and after awhile he felt lighter, clearer. He Summoned a book off the shelf and sat down to read.

He felt dull and slow when he woke up the next day, but he found it helped to have a routine, and he kept taking his potion every day, and by the end of the week he found he wasn't dreading the party so much anymore.

Narcissa was sitting outside in the garden when he arrived, playing with Draco. She pointed her wand at a flowerpot and turned it into a guinea pig and Draco picked it up and played with it in his lap.

"It's so good to see you, Severus," she said, standing up and putting a hand to his arm. Her touch was so strange, so unexpected, that he flinched.

She drew her hand away, looking startled, but to Snape's relief she carried on as though nothing had happened. "How have you been?"

"I've been well," he said, lying through his teeth, but when she smiled at him he thought it'd been worth it.

Lucius strode over to greet him. "Ah, Severus, so good of you to join us. Draco, say hello to our guest."

Draco looked up from his guinea pig. "Hello, Professor," he said, very seriously.

Snape never had a clue what to say to small children, on the rare occassions he saw any, but he knelt down to face him. "Hello Draco."

He didn't know what made him do it, but on a whim he waved his wand in the air a trail of coloured bubbles appeared. Draco set down his guinea pig and chased after them.

Lucius watched him a moment, then turned to Snape. "Join me for a drink?"

Snape followed Lucius into his study, a small room with the pleasing smell of old books and wood and leather.

"I have a few recent acquisitions that might interest you," said Lucius.

He pulled a small glass vial off the shelf and held it up to the light streaming in through the tall window, and Snape saw it was filled a clear liquid indistinguishable from water except for the faintest threads of some shimmering substance.

"It's a new type of poison," said Lucius quietly. "It has no antidote. Not even a bezoar."

"Fascinating," said Snape, even more quietly. He had once attempted to create such a poison.

"And this one," he said, putting the vial back on the shelf and picking up another, slightly larger vial full of pale green liquid, "This one is slow-acting. Doesn't take full effect for days."

Snape held the vial between his fingers and watched the faint swirling of the liquid inside, wondering how it had been made.

"Where did these come from?"

"I have certain connections," said Lucius. "You know the apothecary in Knockturn Alley, of course?" Snape nodded. "Well, he's started a little side business out the back."

Snape handed the vial back to Lucius, who set it back on the shelf.

"It's a pity you're stuck teaching," he said when he'd turned around. "You could have invented these yourself, you know." He said this seriously, without any hint of mockery, and Snape appreciated this.

Lucius sank down into a leather chair and summoned his elf. "Drinks," he said simply. The elf left and returned moments later with two glasses of wine in goblets. Snape took one and sat down opposite him.

"I don't believe I've told you about my latest disagreement with that idiot of a Headmaster."

Snape took a drink of his wine. "No. What of it?"

"I've been attempting to get 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' banned from the Hogwarts library. That filth has been polluting our children's minds long enough."

Snape knew this tale, about a witch who married a luckless Muggle man. His mother had read it to him when he was small, and he couldn't understand why, when such a marriage had brought her so much misery. His heart beat faster at the thought of it.

"I completely agree," he told Lucius, and he meant it.

Lucius took another drink. "Yes, well. Most unfortunately the other governors don't seem share our viewpoint. Likely they're too intimidated to say anything. And do you know what that old lunatic had the nerve to write to me? That even the old pure-blood families have been sullied by intermarriage with Muggles. If he had his way we'd all be mated to them like animals."

Snape found himself in near complete sympathy with Lucius's words, as though Lucius's indignation were his own. At best they were mediocre, their feeble substitutions for magic used for purposes completely uninspired and mundane, a world of polluted rivers and monotonous machines. At worst they were his father, wasting away at their useless jobs and poisoning their bodies and unleashing their rage on their children.

"I intend to campaign to have him removed from his post."

Snape's eyes flickered up to the vials on the shelf. Lucius must have noticed.

"Not through any unscrupulous means, of course," he said. "It would be unwise to expect to avoid imprisonment a second time, though I daresay it's tempting at times."

"Are you intending to persuade the other governors?" said Snape, knowing his efforts were likely to go nowhere.

"Yes, although it's proving difficult. I may have to appeal to a higher authority." Lucius took a sip of his drink and looked at him closely. "I could count on your assistance, of course?"

Snape shifted in his seat and played with the stem of his glass. "Of course," he said quietly, stifling his resentment.

Lucius lifted his glass to him and nodded. "Excellent." He finished his drink and set it down on his desk. "Well, enough of that," he said. "I've ordered some renovations done to the chapel. It's been enchanted to show all the major constellations."

Some of Snape's tension left him at the thought of seeing this most non-mundane use of magic, and by the time he'd toured the chapel with Lucius he was beginning to enjoy himself.

The the other guests were waiting in the garden when he and Lucius stepped outside. His old friend Avery was there and the two clapped each other on the back, and he shook hands with two rather dim-witted fellows called Crabbe and Goyle whom he'd never really liked, who were there with their wives and children.

There was a flash of black from the garden and he turned to see young Selwyn, who was racing about on a broom. He dismounted and joined a man and a woman in flowing robes embroidered with gold and silver threads who he supposed must be his parents. Lucius strode over to make introductions.

"Dionysius, I don't believe you've met Professor Snape of Hogwarts school," he said, speaking to the elder Selwyn.

"So nice to meet you finally," said Dionysius. He leaned in to kiss Snape's cheek in that easy, affectionate way purebloods had with each other, but Snape took a step back, and the man took the hint and held out his hand instead. His manner was friendly, open, and Snape disliked him immediately.

"Acantha, Professor Snape of Hogwarts School," said Lucius, and Snape shook the hand of a small woman with sharp laughing eyes that made her look like she was in on some joke no one else knew about.

Lucius had arranged a portkey, a garden rake, and as it started to glow blue they each grabbed a part of it, parents holding tightly to their children.

They vanished and reappeared in the back garden of a large stone house with a red-tiled roof and Snape's eyes took in the rolling hills and cypress trees all around them. They seemed to be in the Italian countryside, and it was peaceful there.

"I've booked a villa for the night," said Lucius, as everyone sat down under a canopy surrounded by lanterns that had been suspended in mid-air. Umbrella flowers bloomed around them and the air was filled with their scent. An elf came out of the house with a large silver dish and he lifted lid to reveal a display of food arranged to look like an enchanted garden.

"So," said Selwyn's mother, spearing a kumquat with her fork, "You teach Potions, I believe?"

"Yes," said Snape, hoping against hope that it might lead to a discussion about the finer points of potion-making instead of the usual pointless conversations he had to sit through.

"Is Milo any good?"

Something about this irked him and he decided he didn't like her either. "Very good," he said, looking pointedly at the boy, who blushed.

"He's certainly a skilled flier," Lucius spoke up, and Snape thought he was looking at the boy with some interest as he raised a glass to his mouth.

There was an outbreak of yelling from the garden where the children were playing; apparently the Crabbe boy had set a bush on fire. The elf summoned a bucket of water and put it out, and they all went back to their meal, talking about friends and acquaintances and sharing news. Lucius passed some Elixir to Induce Euphoria around, but Snape declined; he doubted whoever made it had the sense to add a peppermint sprig, and he wasn't about to do something as undignified as burst into song.

As the night went on the faces got redder and the voices louder and after the children had been put to bed Snape pushed back his glass and stood up, ready to leave. He'd enjoyed himself in a way, but he didn't wish to stay any longer, and while the Elixer was harmless-children could take it-he had a feeling stronger potions were going to make an appearance, and he was proven right when Lucius pulled a small vial out of his robes and handed it to the elder Selwyn.

"Leaving so soon, Severus?" Lucius asked him, as the elder Selwyn twisted the cap off the vial with a hollow look of hunger Snape didn't like to see. He thought of the boy, back in the house with the other children.

"Yes, I have business to attend to in the morning," Snape replied. Lucius gave him a look that was full of understanding; he knew him well enough to know he wasn't really one for long parties.

Snape took his leave then and returned to Spinner's End, but he was too restless to go to bed. Part of him wished he'd never gone at all, that he'd just stayed in his bed and slept.

* * *

Graihagh was surprised at how tense and distracted she'd been all day, considering it was Cate auditioning for the Frog Choir and Milo trying out for the Quidditch team.

There was pompous little man with a bald head and a ridiculous handlebar mustache strutting around the courtyard, tut-tutting at everyone, and Graihagh distracted herself awhile watching him. He was in the middle of a furious tirade about young people when he tripped over his feet and tumbled to the ground, and with a burst of applause the little man screwed up his face and turned into a first-year Hufflepuff girl named Tonks who a gave them all a cheerful little bow and went to stand with her friends. Graihagh wished she had her powers, only she'd probably turn her hair blue and give herself a huge chest like Jayne Mansfield.

Milo was standing beside her, glancing all around the courtyard and jiggling his hands. He'd barely touched any of his food at breakfast.

Graihagh hadn't seen much of him since the start of term. He'd usually come in late, sometimes covered in mud or soaked with rain, broomstick in hand. She supposed he was practicing with the other hopefuls.

The bell rang and they made their way to the greenhouses for Herbology, the last class of the day. Milo was so distracted now he didn't do a thing, just stood there and watched as Graihagh pruned their Wiggentree sapling, but Graihagh liked the work enough that she didn't mind too much.

"Are you going to come and watch?" said Milo as they made their way back up to the castle.

"I told Cate I'd go with her to her audition, but I'll come as soon as she's done, promise."

Milo didn't say anything to this, just gave an absent nod, and as sooon as they'd dropped off their books they went to dinner, Milo picking at his food.

"You'll be great," said Graihagh, patting his arm. Milo just swirled his mash around with a fork.

She pushed her plate back and got up to meet Cate, who'd stood up and was making her way out of the Hall, clutching her frog.

"You sure you don't want to try out with me?" said Cate as she bent over to pick up her frog, who'd jumped out of her hands. "There's a few open spots with the altos, you can sing harmony parts."

Graihagh raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh come on, you've heard me. I sound like a dying Kneazle."

"Well yeah, you sort of do," said Cate with a teasing smile.. Graihagh gave her a little shove with her elbow and they made their way to the music room on the fifth floor. She stood and waited beside a brightly coloured tapestry, while Cate paced back and forth, bouncing on her heels and humming.

"Miss Bellamy," called Flitwick after a few minutes.

Graihagh squeezed her hand. "Good luck," she said. Cate nodded and went into the music room with Flitwick.

Standing so close to the music room put her in the mood to sing, so she hummed the words to Ushag Veg Ruy under her breath as she waited. But she got stuck on the forth line, and she didn't know why. It hadn't been that long since she'd sung it to herself.

"...thank you, Miss Bellamy," Flitwick said as the door opened. "I'll have the list up by tomorrow."

Graihagh looked up to see Cate, who was smiling in a nervous sort of way.

"How'd it go?"

"I think it went alright," said Cate. "I might've gotten a few wrong notes but it was a tough piece and that might make it count for more."

"I'm sure you were brilliant," said Graihagh in rush. "Listen, I told Milo I'd watch his tryout, do you want to come? We'll have to hurry."

Cate nodded and Graihagh reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out some of her Girding Potion. They each took a swig, then ran all the way to the Quidditch pitch, only having to stop once.

The hopefuls were all on their brooms, flying around the pitch, dodging and hitting Bludgers, scoring and blocking goals with an almost frantic intensity. They were all bigger than Milo, and most looked older. Making the team wasn't going to be easy, but Milo was a quick and graceful flier, maybe because he was so small, and he threw the Quaffle with a strength that must've surprised everyone. Graihagh just hoped he would have the sense not to throw it too hard, or it'd look suspicious.

Graihagh gripped the edge of her seat and rocked back and forth as the captain called everyone to a halt and the players dismounted, wiping their sweaty faces with their robes. She thought he might be calling out names, but couldn't hear what they were over the wind. One by one they came forward and stood beside him, including a dark-haired girl she thought might be Livia Travers.

"I hope he makes it in," said Cate.

Graihagh just stared down at the pitch, picking at her fingernails. There were five people standing beside the captain now. Only one more left.

Milo stepped forward, and Thorfinn slapped him on the back. When the captain shook his hand, Graihagh stood up and ran onto the pitch.

"I made it!" he said, sounding happier than she had ever heard him. She wrapped her arms around him and Cate flashed him a grin.

"Knew you could do it," she said, patting his back. But she didn't look at him too closely. He'd had some help from her Strengthening Solution and they both knew it, but she didn't want to remind him of it now, not when he was so happy.

The three of them walked back to the castle together, and when they got back to the common room they sat down in their usual spot. Thorfinn came over and handed Milo a Butterbeer. "Come sit with us," he said, patting him on the arm and nodding towards the fire. Milo smiled and stood up, then looked back at Graihagh.

"She can come to," said Thorfinn, and with a thrill of nerves and excitement Graihagh got up and sat down beside Milo in one of the plush leather sofas by the fire. His feet barely touched the floor and he was bouncing his legs against it.

There was an unopened bottle of Butterbeer sitting on the table, and with a quick glance at Thorfinn, who nodded, Graihagh picked it up and pulled the cap off. She looked up to see Livia staring at her with an eyebrow raised. She'd grown taller and curvier and Graihagh would've given every single one of her galleons to look like her.

She didn't know why her stomach was all fluttery. Nerves probably. She swigged her Butterbeer and laughed at Thorfinn's jokes even though they were a bit stupid and tried not to look at Livia again. Milo didn't say a whole lot, but he was smiling and she could tell how chuffed he was by the whole thing. She caught his eye and grinned, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. They were _in._

After awhile, when the fire had burned low and the common room was emptying out, Thorfinn sat down next to them.

"Can you make Strengthening Solution?"

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who'd turned deep red.

"It's all right mate," said Thorfinn, clapping him on the shoulder. "You were easily one of the best fliers. You'll bulk up in a year or two." He took a swig of Butterbeer and turned to Graihagh. "So can you make me some?"

"Are you sure you need it?" said Graihagh, looking him over. His biceps were practically bulging out of his school robes.

Thorfinn shrugged. "Couldn't hurt, could it? Besides, it's Gryffindor, and you know what they're like. The fuckin tossers'll take any advantage they can get."

Graihagh picked at her robes. "I suppose that's true."

Thorfinn leaned back and shot her a lazy grin. "I'll tell everyone how brilliant you are."

Graihagh didn't really know if he was being serious or not, he was always joking around. But if he meant it, if he'd really put in a good word for her...she didn't even know if she was Muggle-born or not. She needed him, if she ever wanted to make something of herself. And besides, she wanted to prove she could do it.

"Fine," she said. "But if you get caught...I had nothing to do with it, alright?"

Thorfinn smirked at her. "How long have you been in Slytherin Graihagh? You know we don't snitch."

"I know," she said. She'd always liked that about them.

Thorfinn finished his Butterbeer and set it down on the table in front of them. "Cheers," he said. He stood up. "I'll leave you two alone then."

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who'd turned red again, and she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was. That he didn't realize people saw it that way.

"Do you think he meant it?" he said, when he'd watched him go. "That I was one of the best fliers?"

"You're a natural," said Graihagh, looking him straight in the eye to show he meant it. He gave her a small smile, and they stayed there together until the fire had burned down to glowing coals.


	22. Chapter 22

Snape was used to teaching now, or as used to it as he could ever be, and his stomach wasn't so tight now when he walked into the classroom at the start of term. And yet he could barely keep in his frustration, that he'd been passed over for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job yet again. It wasn't that he didn't love making potions; it would always be one of the things he loved best, but trying to teach it to clueless teenagers made him want to pull his hair out, and he needed a change. He wondered if Dumbledore was suspicious of him still .The old man had some nerve, if he was. Snape had never showed him anything but loyalty, even after he'd failed to save Lily.

He woke up early the first Saturday of term, and on a whim he made his way though the silent corridors to the library. The rooms were empty, the light coming in through the windows dim, and the silence and stillness and smell of old books drained his tension and filled him with something like peace. He knew the layout by memory, without the need to look at the signs. He walked towards the section of children's tales and folktales and skimmed the titles until he found what he was looking for, a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. It was worn and the binding was loose and he held it with the very tips of his fingers, flipping through it until he found "The Fountain of Fair Fortune."

He hadn't read the story in ages, not since his mother had read it to him. His eyes scanned over the words and as they did his hands gripped the book so tightly they were white. His father hadn't been any storybook knight. He'd been the monster under the bed.

Glancing around him even though he knew there was no one around, he pulled his wand out of his robes and stood there with it hovering over the page. Seconds passed, and he was starting to feel like a bit of an idiot. He didn't know how long he stood and stared at it. Finally, he jabbed his wand at the parchment and thought the incantation, and the words turned to scribbles. He set it back on the shelf.

Dumbledore chatted with him over dinner that night, and for some reason Snape couldn't quite meet his eye. When he retired to his office for the evening and there was a knock at the door he nearly jumped, but it was just a student, with a note. Dumbledore wished to see him in is office. Snape straightened his collar and stood up. He wasn't about to tell him anything.

When he had ascended the spiral staircase and entered the room he found Dumbledore sitting at his desk humming softly to himself, one hand in a bowl of toffees and the other holding a copy of _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_, which he appeared to be reading. Snape cleared his throat.

"Ah, Severus," said Dumbledore, looking up from his book. "Please, sit down.

Snape sat, and Dumbledore held out a small dish. "Toffee?" Snape took some, and Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "I thought it might be pleasant for us to catch up a bit," he said. "How have you found the term so far?"

His tone was casual, pleasant, but Snape rather thought he was watching him too closely. He shifted in his seat like a guilty schoolboy and wondered if the old man knew.

"It has been fine, Headmaster." This wasn't really true, but Dumbledore likely knew him well enough to know how he really felt, and was merely being polite.

"Excellent," said the old man. There was a pause while he chewed on his toffee. "I have had good reports about you from the rest of the staff, you know." Snape was genuinely surprised by this. Dumbledore was smiling at him with his eyes in that characteristic way of his.

"They tell me you have quite the gift for keeping order in your classroom," he continued. Snape felt a little warm around the neck now, but Dumbledore didn't look too stern. There was another pause while Dumbledore leaned back in his chair with another toffee.

"Do you see much of Lucius Malfoy?"

Dumbledore's voice was light, casual, and yet Snape was more uncomfortable than ever; Dumbledore was more perceptive than even the Dark Lord.

"On occasion," Snape said, in what he hoped was an equally casual tone.

"So I suppose you know about our recent, shall we say, difference of opinion?"

"He might have mentioned it, yes."

"I thought perhaps you might. And what are your thoughts on the matter?"

For a moment he didn't know what to say; Dumbledore had never asked his opinion on anything not related to espionage. He chose his words carefully.

"Forgive me for saying so, Headmaster," he said quietly, "but I wonder if it is wise to promote such ideas. Close relations between wizards and Muggles have often been...rather fraught."

Dumbledore paused a moment, putting his fingers together. "There is some truth to that, I suppose. I grant that there may be some good intentions behind such beliefs." He put his hands together, and Snape saw that he looked much more serious now."But it is alarming to me, how quickly our good intentions can turn into something else entirely."

Snape didn't have a clue what he was on about. Typical Dumbledore, speaking in riddles. Dumbledore dismissed him, and Snape descended the spiral staircase wondering how someone so intelligent could be so infuriating.

But he didn't have much time to spend thinking about it, or about much of anything really. The start of term was always hectic, and by the time things settled down Hallowe'en was approaching and like every year Snape was left wondering how he'd ever get through it.

He felt sick waking up in the mornings. Sometimes he'd forget what had happened and think he was back in Spinner's End or his old dormitory and none of this had ever happened, which was almost worse, in a way. The night before Hallowe'en he took a potion for a dreamless sleep and the moment he woke he busied himself with teaching and planning lessons.

The feast that night was just as loud and raucous as ever, memories of the war still fresh in everyone's minds, he supposed, and he only stayed to eat a quick dinner before heading down to the dungeons.

He was headed to his room, but on a whim he turned and went down a different corridor, dark except for the blue light of the black candles along the walls. The temperature dropped with every step and could see his breath floating ahead of him in the low light.

He'd been dismayed at how easily Lily made friends, since hardly any of them liked him and it inevitably meant less time spent with her. But when she'd befriended Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, in her second year, it had led to one of the best adventures they'd ever had together. Snape remembered it well, he played it so often in his mind.

He'd walked up the dungeon steps with Avery and Mulciber on their way to the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en feast.

"Wonder what they'll have for entertainment," Mucliber had said. "Probably something stupid like dancing skeletons."

Snape had let out a snort even though he didn't really think dancing skeletons were all that stupid and Mulciber shot him a grin.

They made their way into the Entrance Hall, and Snape saw Lily standing across the room, under a wall sconce shaped like a griffin. Snape stopped as though to tie his shoes and gestured the others to go on ahead of him.

Once they were in the Great Hall, he walked over to Lily. Her eyes were shining the way they did when she was excited about something.

"Do you want to go to a Deathday party?" she said.

"What's that?"

"It's-well, I think it's sort of like a birthday, only when you died. Nearly Headless Nick invited me, do you want to come?"

Snape glanced around the Entrance Hall to see if there were any teachers about. They all seemed to be at the feast.

"I suppose so," he said, trying not to sound as excited as he felt.

They stole away done the dungeon steps, through the corridors, Lily's face lit up with that impish, lopsided grin of hers.

The room was packed with ghosts, with a table full of putrid food and some strange music playing in the background. Lily's nose crinkled up when she saw the grubs crawling all over something they couldn't identify. Moaning Myrtle drifted by.

"Oh, hello Myrtle," said Lily, and Snape wasn't all that surprised she was on speaking terms with another one of the Hogwarts ghosts.

"Hello," she said morosely, picking at her robes. "Nice party isn't it? Of course, no one ever bothers to remember _my _Deathday." She burst into tears then, and Lily looked at him with her mouth twitching the way it did when she was trying not to smile.

They'd stayed there an hour or two, and by the time they got back up the feast had ended and they'd had to race back to their common rooms before Filch caught them.

Snape remembered all of it, as though it had just happened, and as he stood there now the smell of freezing air and wet stone and burning candles made it seem so close he closed his eyes and imagined it he was still there with her. He stopped and rested his hand along the stone wall, leaning against it, eyes still closed. He could feel them growing wet.

"Is everything all right?"

Snape nearly jumped at the sound, and he opened his eyes, trying to bring whatever it was into focus, and for the love of Merlin, it was Moaning Myrtle.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"There's no need to get so angry with me," she pouted. "I thought I heard someone crying out here."

"I wasn't crying," he said, mortified by the thought that she might tell all the students passing through her bathroom about it. "There was smoke in my eyes."

"Oh," she said softly, but she was looking at him rather pityingly all the same. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it..."

Snape looked at her for a moment like she'd offered to give him a sponge bath. He wondered if she'd been this daft when she was alive. "And why on earth would I talk to you?"

She crossed her semi-transparent arms and looked sulky. "Oh of course, no one ever wants to talk to Myrtle, let's just ignore her and maybe she'll go away."

"Does that work?"

Her beady eyes narrowed from behind her pearly glasses. "Oh yes, go ahead and have a laugh at me like everyone else why don't you? That's all anyone ever did when I was alive, you know."

"Well, if you were this annoying it's no wonder," he said, recovering himself and smirking a little.

She burst into tears, but he found the sight of it amusing rather than annoying.

"You're terribly mean, you know," she wailed.

"How kind of you to pay me such a compliment."

She wailed even harder, and Snape just stood there watching her until she'd calmed down. She looked at him with her eyes narrowed, as though trying to get him into focus. "Wait a minute," she said, hiccoughing a bit. "I remember you." She drifted closer to him. "You were a friend of her. Lily."

Snape's heart beat faster at the sound of her name.

"She used to come to my toilet you know, talk to me. I rather liked her." She shot him a dark look then, as though wondering how someone so nice could keep company with him. "If you see her tell her hello from me."

Snape didn't know what to say. He gave her a stiff nod and watched her drift away.

He went back to his room and pulled off his boots as he sank into his bed, thinking of Lily, and what Dumbledore said, and what it all meant.

For some strange reason an image of the book floated up through his subconcious, the one he'd bewitched. He tried to push it aside, but couldn't.

* * *

Graihagh stopped in the middle of the Slytherin section of the Quidditch stands, her green and silver scarf wrapped around her. She didn't have a clue where to sit. She'd never really patched things up with Emily and her friends, and while Livia's friends weren't ignoring her anymore, they weren't exactly friendly either. She finally found a group of third-years and sat down next to them, keeping her body turned slightly so they wouldn't think she was butting in.

She'd had to coax Milo to eat his breakfast, and she hadn't eaten much herself. This would be his first match as Chaser, and she could barely stand to watch it.

There was someone new doing the commentary, a second-year Gryffindor named Bill Weasley, if she'd heard right, and she hoped he'd be impartial.

"And they're off!" said Bill. "Gryffindor Chaser Towler with the Quaffle, she passes it to Fletcher, Fletcher shoots...and he scores, 10 zero to Gryffindor, and Slytherin in possession. Slytherin Chaser Travers with the Quaffle, passes to Selwyn, Selwyn dodges a bludger from Jones, passes to Brennan, he shoots...it's good, and the score is 10-10."

Graihagh stood up and cheered. Milo had made an assist, and dodged a bludger doing it.

"And it's Gryffindor in possession and Towler passes to Fletcher..." there was a loud groan from the crowd. One of the Gryffindor Chasers had nearly been knocked off his broom by a bludger, and Graihagh had a feeling she knew exactly who'd done it. He clutched his stomach and was helped to the ground by the other two Chasers.

"And the Gryffindor Captain calls time-out as Fletcher is helped to the ground, looks like he's been badly injured..."

There was a loud drone of boos from the Gryffindor end and Graihagh couldn't really blame them. She should've known Thorfinn would pull something like this. The little shit.

Professor McGonagall hurried down the stands and with the help of Professor Sprout they half-carried him back up to the castle.

"And the Quaffle is back in play, and Gryffindor are one Chaser short, looks like the rest of the team are going to have to step up..."

It was a short game. The Gryffindor Chasers were too busy dodging Thorfinn's ferocious bludger attacks to get in scoring position, and Slytherin scored an additional fifty points, with a few more assists by Milo. Shafiq found the Snitch not long after.

The rest of the Slytherins were on their feet, but Graihagh was watching Milo. Thorfinn had patted him on the back but he'd shrugged him off and was walking towards the changing rooms, clutching his broom and looking at the ground. Graihagh made her way down the stands and waited for him.

"You were amazing," she said when he came out, but he wasn't smiling, and he started walking back up to the castle without saying anything.

"What's wrong?" she said.

Milo was quiet so long she wasn't sure he was going to answer her. Only when they'd reached the front steps did he stop to look at her.

"Why'd you have to make him that Strengthening Solution?" he said, and Graihagh could hear the accusation in his voice. "It was my first match, I wanted us to win on skill."

Graihagh's first thought was that it was a bit rich, considering he had taken a good-sized dose of her Strengthening Solution right along with Thorfinn, but she understood what he meant. "I know, I'm sorry, if I'd known he was going to do that-"

"Are you really that thick? What did you think he was going to do with it?"

She'd known. She'd known the moment he'd asked. Her face got hot. "Look, I said I was sorry, I know it was stupid, okay?"

Milo looked away from her and didn't say anything, and a thought occurred to her.

"Do the rest of the team know about it?"

Milo scowled, as though he knew perfectly well why she'd asked, and she wanted to run right back to her dormitory.

"No, just us. But I know Shafiq and Brennan don't like using the Girding Potion. They won't take it."

Graihagh knew this. They hadn't bought any off her for weeks.

Milo turned towards the castle doors. "I'm going to take a bath, I'm freezing. I'll see you later."

Milo had never been this upset with her before, and what was worse, she knew she deserved it. All she'd wanted was to help him, and somehow she'd managed to fuck it up. Her eyes were stinging as she walked back to her dormitory, and she picked at her shepherd's pie at dinner without really seeing it. She wished she hadn't agreed to meet Cate at the library.

"You all right?" said Cate when she walked up to her table in the library. Theodora and Rajiv were sitting across from them and Graihagh almost missed the chair sitting down. She brushed her hair back from her face and shot him a quick glance, but he wasn't looking at her.

"Yeah," said Graihagh, and she tried to look like she meant it.

Cate handed Graihagh her Potions essay and Graihagh handed Cate her Charms essay and they each looked the other's over, making some corrections here and there. When they'd finished, Graihagh pulled out her Transfiguration book, to study for a test McGonagall had scheduled for the end of the week.

"I'm surprised to see you revising," said Theodora from across the table.

Graihagh looked up from her book. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I thought the Slytherins had all the answers to the tests."

Graihagh slammed her book shut. "Why does everyone assume we're cheaters?"

Rajiv looked up from his parchment. "It was a joke Graihagh, don't get your knickers in a knot."

Graihagh tried to calm herself but Rajiv looked startled and she knew things weren't just going to go back to normal.

"Yeah, well, at least we manage to win at things," she snapped. She picked up her books and stomped out of the library.

There were fast footfalls behind her, and when she turned around Cate was standing there, looking shocked and annoyed.

"What the hell, Graihagh?"

Graihagh couldn't look at her face. Her eyes flicked to a painting of a stern-looking baker tapping a rolling pin against her palm in a menacing sort of way. Sweet Merlin, even the portraits hated her.

"Do you realize how that makes you look? How that makes me look?"

"I'm sorry, okay?"

Cate looked at her a moment. "You know, you're my best friend and I love you, but you're a right little pain in my arse sometimes, you know that?"

She knew. She'd been a pain in everyone's arse that day. Her voice softened. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, that's a start anyway," said Cate. She turned and walked back to the library without her.

Graihagh went back to the dungeons, and she'd just reached the bottom of the steps when she heard voices from one of the adjacent corridors. Thorfinn and Milo. She stopped along the wall to listen.

"...I'm sorry, mate," Thorfinn was saying. "You flew really well today."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've never seen anyone dodge a bludger like that."

"Cheers," said Milo, and Graihagh could tell by his voice that he was smiling.

She heard their footsteps and started walking as though she just happened to be walking past, and when she caught up with Milo she saw that he was still smiling, and she wondered if he'd ever really got much praise for anything.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who has favorited/followed, I really appreciate it!

From here on there will be some references to substance abuse/addiction (both the wizard and Muggle kind) but nothing really graphic or explicit except for maybe one chapter later on, and I will for sure add a content warning.

* * *

Snape muttered the incantation for a Supersensory Charm to make sure the staff room was empty before he walked in. He supposed he wouldn't have minded so much it Flitwick or Sprout was hanging round, but ever since the last Quidditch match McGonagall kept looking at him with such burning fury he was suprised he hadn't spontaneously combusted.

He sank down into a chair and had just pulled a packet of crisps out of his robes when the door opened and he didn't even have to turn around to know it was McGonagall. Every click of her shoes on the flagged stone floor was like a scold. _Tsk, tsk, tsk._

"I'd like a word with you, Professor Snape," she said in a rather dangerous sounding voice.

"About what?" said Snape, opening his crisp packet and popping one into his mouth.

McGonagall sat down opposite him. "About last week's Quidditch match."

"What about it?"

"I think you know perfectly well what, Professor. In all my years of playing and watching Quidditch I've never seen a bludger hit with such force. Clearly there is something going on."

Snape hadn't either, come to think of it, but accusation rankled just the same. He lowered his crisp packet and raised an eyebrow. "And just what are you suggesting?"

McGonagall leaned forward and looked him straight in the eye. "I am suggesting you may want to investigate the matter further, Professor."

Snape was about to open his mouth and suggest that she was full on nonsense but in his mind he saw a flash of the girl and a cauldronful of Strengthening Solution and he understood exactly what had happened. But he wasn't about to let the actions of two insufferable toerags destroy the reputation of an entire house.

"I don't really see the point in that now," he said.

"So you're not going to, in other words?" McGonagall's voice was rising now, and she was on the edge of her seat.

Snape took another crisp and shoved it into his mouth. "I think it unlikely to go anywhere."

McGonagall stood up, nostrils flaring. "I expected better than this from you, Professor! But perhaps I shouldn't have, given...certain circumstances."

She knew. She had to have known, and she was rubbing it in his face. Snape shot out of his chair and stared her down, doing his best to ignore the fact that she was slightly taller than he was. "Meaning what?"

For a moment they just stood there, breathing fast, staring each other down. For what reason he didn't know, perhaps because she'd known she'd gone too far, but the fire in her eyes went out and they became wider, softer.

"I just thought...I may have been a bit too..." She sounded completely flustered know, but she took a breath and recovered herself. "I trust that we're both committed to fair play and that you'll deal with the situation as you feel appropriate."

Snape's chest was still pounding but he bit back the retort on the edge of his lips. "Yes. Of course," he said. "I'll see to it that it doesn't happen again." He thought a week's worth of the most miserable detentions she'd ever experienced would be enough to stop the Corlett girl giving Rowle any more of her potions.

"I appreciate it, Professor," said McGonagall. Her body relaxed like she'd been holding her breath for the last ten minutes and she gestured towards the tea table.

"Would you care to join me for a cup, Professor?"

"No thank you," said Snape, shoving his crisp packet back into the pocket of his robes. "I have a great deal of work to be getting on with." Reading alone in his bedroom, mainly.

"Well, perhaps I'll see you later then," said McGonagall. Snape gave her a small nod and retired to his room, rather hoping he didn't.

The month leading up to the Christmas holidays was a busy time, and fortunately Snape didn't run into her very often. He was just leaving the staff room the last day of term, thinking about the two weeks he'd be able to hole up in his bedroom, when there was a light touch on his arm, and when he saw McGonagall standing there he stiffened a little, thinking she was still angry about the match, but there was a softness in her eyes he wasn't expecting.

"Elphinstone and I are hosting a small party at our cottage this Christmas Eve. We would be delighted if you could join us." She wasn't smiling and didn't sound as though she'd be the least bit delighted and he supposed this was just some half-hearted attempt at being nice, but the whole thing was so unexpected that before he knew what had happened he'd agreed to go.

He was regretting rather bitterly as he made his way through Hogsmeade Christmas Eve. He'd decided to wait awhile so as not to be the first one there and now he was late. He imagined everyone turning to stare at him as he walked in.

He stopped in front of the doorway and paused with his hand at the knocker, heart pounding, hands sweating, cursing himself for his weakness. He could look the Dark Lord straight in the eye and lie to him but he couldn't even walk into a bloody party. He took a breath and rapped on the door.

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened in surprise when she opened the door and found him standing there, but she recovered herself quickly, as she always did.

"Professor Snape, so good of you to join us." She beckoned him into the sitting room. "I don't believe you've met my husband, Elphinstone." A dignified-looking man with smiling eyes shook his hand. Urquhart, no doubt.

There was a punch bowl full of eggnog on a table along one side of the room and he scooped some into a glass and took a long drink. It was nice and strong, and he supposed that was something.

He glanced around the room and saw most of the staff there. Hagrid, Professor Kettleburn, and Madam Hooch were standing by the fireplace, roaring with laughter; he could hear a dull thump as Hagrid pounded Professor Kettleburn on the back and his wooden legs hit the floor. Professor McGonagall was talking with Elphinstone, Professor Sprout, and Dumbledore, who glanced over at him with an amused look on his face, and Professor Flitwick was having a lively-looking discussion with Professor Vector and Professor Babbling.

He took another drink and grabbed a small plate and loaded it with cheese and sweetmeats and tried to look occupied. He wondered how long he would have to stay here before it would be polite to leave.

He was just about to refill his plate when Professor Vector met his eye and walked over to him. He had hardly ever spoken to her.

"It's good to see you here, Professor Snape. I don't believe we've really had a chance to get acquainted. How do you find teaching?"

Somehow he didn't think "mind-numbingly fucking tedious" was an appropriate response. "It's a pleasure," he said quietly, not quite meeting her eye.

"Wonderful," she said. She had a McGonagall-like dignity about her. "I remember you as being a very dedicated student, so it's no suprise that you enjoy teaching."

She had to go and remind him that these people were all his former teachers. He took a long drink of eggnog.

"I've always quite enjoyed teaching myself. It's such a privilege to pass on our knowledge, don't you think?"

It might've been, if any of his knowledge penetrated his students' thick skulls. "Indeed," he said.

"And Professor Dumbledore is such an excellent Headmaster. I've always found him to be very engaged with the teaching staff, very interested in pedagogical theory, you know."

He didn't have a clue she was on about. He made a small murmur of assent and there was a silence. He supposed she expected him to say something, but he didn't know what.

"The coffee in the staff room is good," he said. This was so colossally stupid he actually felt himself getting hot in the face and took another drink.

Professor Vector looked slightly flustered. "Indeed," she said vaguely. They stood there silently for a few more unbearble moments, Snape tapping his fingers against his glass, until she caught Professor Babbling's eye and went to join her. He went to refill his glass and plan his escape.

Professor Sprout caught his eye and Snape walked over to her just to have something to do.

"Good to see you here, Professor," she said, and he couldn't detect any sarcasm in her voice."I haven't seen you in the greenhouses in a while. You'll have to stop by sometime soon, that Wiggentree bark is just about ready to be used."

"I look forward to it," he told her, and thought that this might actually be sincere.

Professor Flitwick came over to them. "I was just telling the others what a fine job you're doing as Head of House!" he said in his enthusiastic way.

He assumed Flitwick was just attempting to be nice, and perhaps it was just the eggnog but he felt rather chuffed at this all the same. But for some reason his face grew hot and he mumbled something indistinct.

"Are you enjoying Hogwarts?" asked Professor Babbling, who had come to join them and hadn't seemed to notice this sticky moment.

"I'm enjoying it very much," he replied. This was somewhat true at least; he'd started to like being back at the castle, even if he couldn't stand the students.

He was in a larger group now, so the conversation moved more smoothly, and after his third glass of eggnog his tense muscles relaxed and wasn't even that annoyed when Hagrid nearly knocked him over waving his arms to tell a story.

"So then the egg hatches, and the thing inside it nearly takes Kettleburn's head off. So I says to him, 'I don't think that's a Hippogriff!"

Everyone roared with laughter. Snape found Hagrid and Kettleburn ridiculous, but he supposed it was a rather amusing story. He almost smiled.

The party got progressively more lively as the evening went on. He wasn't sure what brought it about, but at some point Dumbledore charmed a record to play. A waltz came on, and he watched as Elphinstone stood in front of McGonagall and reached out his hand.

"Dance?"

McGonagall blushed and smiled and put her hand in his as he put his arm around her waist, and they danced around the room, barely taking their eyes from each other. When the song was over he kept his arm around her waist and pulled her in close and kissed her. Snape shifted a little and played with his glass, never comfortable with such sentimental scenes, and yet he found he didn't mind it too much.

It was after midnight and the room was spinning a little when he made his way out of the cottage. There was another light touch on his arm.

"Thank you for joining us, Professor Snape," said McGonagall, with the smallest hint of a smile.

"Thank you for having me, Professor," he murmured.

He supposed it hadn't been a horrible evening.

* * *

Graihagh had never been more relieved to go home for Christmas. Milo and Cate were still sort of annoyed with her, she'd failed a Transifuguration test, and she'd just spent a week scrubbing toilets with Filch.

She'd always loved Douglas at Christmas time, when the city centre was draped in lights and decorations. She and her father and her granny always went walking there and through Summerhill Glen, where the trees were wound with soft-coloured fairy lights and the whole place looked enchanted. She leaned her head against the car window and gazed at all the decorations as they drove past on their way from the sea terminal, thinking she might ask her dad if they could take a walk later.

But something was different about the house and she knew it as soon as she'd walked inside. It was tidier than usual, and there was a makeup case in the bathroom. She felt her stomach clench and didn't want to ask about it.

She was forced to find out the next evening. The doorbell rang and she heard her dad's voice, along with another one, a woman's. Graihagh stayed in the lounge until her dad called her.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," he told her when she'd come into the front hall, arms crossed. "This is Julie."

She was dressed in a jumper and jeans and there was nothing obviously trashy about her, but she was young and had that smell about her, that combination of cigarette smoke and perfume and failure, and Graihagh knew she wasn't the type to take her shopping and give her life advice. They pretty much never were, not that she wanted them to be, since they would all eventually leave anyway, and it was easier if they were horrible.

Graihagh looked her up and down, and the woman did the same to her.

"Well," said her dad, much too heartily, "why don't we go get some dinner then?"

Graihagh grabbed her coat off the rack and followed them into the car, trying her best not to look at them. The woman and her dad didn't talk much and she took it as a good sign.

"So," said the woman after they'd sat down and were waiting for their food. "Your dad tells me you go to a special school."

Something about the way she said it told Graihagh she wasn't all that impressed by it. "Yeah," said Graihagh, with a slight edge to her voice.

The woman took a sip of her drink. "Sounds posh."

Graihagh glanced at her dad, who looked flustered. "Graihagh is very talented at po-chemistry," he said. "She gets excellent marks."

"Does she?" said the woman, and there was something in her tone Graihagh didn't like.

"So did you finish school then?" Graihagh asked. Her dad kicked her under the table.

The woman narrowed her eyes slightly. "I got three A-levels."

"Really?" said Graihagh, inflecting her voice to show her disbelief.

Her dad cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "So, now that Graihagh's home we should make some plans for Christmas. I thought we'd all go to Hunt the Wren together."

Graihagh made a non-comittal noise of agreement, and once their food came she looked down at her plate and didn't say anything.

Her dad went out with the woman the next night, just as Graihagh thought he would, and she put on her coat and walked the few blocks to her granny's house. She was in the lounge watching Coronation Street and as soon as Graihagh came inside she got up and fixed her some hot chocolate and Graihagh sank down beside her.

"I know something's bothering you Graihagh," her granny said after awhile.

Graihagh finished her hot chocolate and set down the mug. "It's just...why does he date women like that? Why can't he just pick someone who's good for him?"

"Ah, I don't know," said her Granny. She tilted her head a little to one side and stared into the space ahead of her, as though seeing something there. "I don't think he ever got over what happened with your mother, to tell the truth."

The words startled her. They hardly ever talked about her mother.

"Did you know her?" said Graihagh.

"I saw her a fair bit. But she was a hard person to get to know."

The back of Graihagh's neck prickled. "Was she...strange?"

"Oh, she was a strange one alright. Thought she must've grown up in one of them hippie communes. Didn't know how to use a blender. I showed her how to do it and when I come back into the kitchen there was milkshake all over the walls. She didn't put the lid on." She breathed out, a sound halfway between a disapproving cluck and a laugh. "Another time she nearly stuck a fork in the toaster."

Graihagh just sat there without really seeing or hearing anything, her shock and excitement washing over her in waves. Her granny put an arm around her and squeezed her.

"...won't last forever."

Graihagh started and looked at her. "What?"

"I was just saying that this won't last forever. I've met her. I give it two more months, tops. Then I might have to set him up with someone decent."

Graihagh smiled, but her mind was far away. She and her granny played a round of Monopoly but kept picking at her nails and glancing out the window and she lost on purpose so she could leave sooner. Her granny seemed to understand. She pulled Graihagh into a long hug before she left, and told her she'd come visit Christmas Eve.

Her dad was still out when she got home, just as she thought he'd be. She went upstairs to his room, to the filing cabinet where he kept all his tax slips and things and starting flipping through the papers until she found what she was looking for.

She stared at the header on the top. She didn't know she'd been born in Britain. She scanned the paper looking for her name and when she found it her heart beat faster, because it was a strange name, Alethea, one of those names that sounded like it came from ancient Greece or someplace. Names that were only really used anymore in the wizarding world. But she didn't recognize the last name, Bennet. None of the old wizarding families she heard so much about went by that name, that she knew of.

And yet her mother hadn't even known how small appliances worked.

She went down to the lounge and waited for her dad to get home, praying he didn't bring his girlfriend home for the night like he obviously did sometimes. To her relief he was alone when he came back in around one in the morning.

"What are you doing up, sweetheart?" he said. He sounded tired.

The question had been on her mind all night, for the last four years really, and Graihagh got right to the point. "Was mum a witch?"

Her dad stared at her, as though he didn't understand. Then his expression changed. He looked almost pitying, and Graihagh reckoned he knew why she'd asked. "Not that I know of. She never used a wand or anything like that."

"She didn't make strange things happen?"

Her dad shook his head. "Not that I remember."

Graihagh sank back into the settee and didn't say anything. Her dad sat down beside her. Graihagh couldn't really bring herself to ask, but she couldn't not know anymore, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"What happened to her?"

Her dad didn't look at her. "Maybe this isn't the best time-"

"When is the best time? On your deathbed? Or are you still not going to tell me?"

Her dad sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose and Graihagh knew whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"What, is she dead?" she said, wearing her flippancy like a shield. Trying to anyway.

"Not that I know of."

"So what happened then?"

Her dad was quiet again. "She...had a bit of a drug problem."

This sounded like a massive understandment. "A bit of a drug problem?"

"She was getting clean when I met her," he said, almost apologetically. "But...then things got bad again. I think it might've been the drugs they gave her at the hospital when you were born."

Well, there it was, the truth. She'd been starting to think her mother was a witch, if she'd gone off to fight You-Know-Who and died like a hero. But she was nothing but a junkie who couldn't be arsed take care of her own daughter.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he dad said, rubbing her back. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear."

"No shit."

"There's no need to use that kind of language."

Graihagh snorted. She'd just been hit with a bomb and her dad was worried about her fucking language. She stood up.

"I'm going to turn in," she said, doing her best to sound casual, like the conversation had never happened and she'd just been watching a television programme. "'Night dad."

"'Night Graih," said her dad, using her old nickname.

Graihagh lay in bed a long time, staring at the drops of rain on the window, orange-yellow from the streetlamps. So she was a Muggle-born, the daughter of an mechanic and his addict girlfriend, nothing special about her at all. But that was all right, really. It wasn't going to be her blood that got her places, it would be her talent. And she would be the best fucking potioneer the wizarding world had ever seen. She'd do it if it killed her.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** I'm going to add just a little bit of past Severus/Regulus just because I'm so fascinated by them both and how they changed. There won't be any actual slash and the emphasis will still be on his past friendship with Lily.

I combined a few chapters to make them longer so this will now be 54 chapters instead of 58 (and I might make it even shorter).

Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

Snape spent most of the Christmas holidays holed up in his room reading, as he usually did, but by the last night he was restless and walked the empty corridors alone.

He'd walked these corridors many nights with his friends, Avery and Mulciber and Evan Rosier and Regulus Black. Late at night when the fire burned low they'd sneak off into empty rooms and practice curses and imagine what it would be like when they got their Death Eater robes. They'd even had their own secret society, Skull and Serpent, a bit stupid when he thought of it now, but there'd been something so thrilling about it, sneaking off into empty rooms and practicing those forbidden spells, feeling their power shoot down his arm, their potency growing every time he did them. His parents wouldn't protect him, his teachers wouldn't protect him, Dumbledore wouldn't protect him, but he would protect himself, and he damn well had.

Those boys had been like his brothers, maybe more than that. Ever since he'd died Snape had buried the memory Regulus, how he used to tag along behind him, how he used to look at him, how he'd casually lean over and brush against him when they studied together in the evenings. But the memories surfaced at strange times, like when he smelled old books or when he went off to one of their old haunts somewhere for a drink or when he walked the corridors alone at night.

But what had it lead to? Lily was dead, Regulus was dead, the Dark Lord was gone and the Death Eaters scattered. And yet what choice did he have, really? He didn't see how it could've been any different.

He was so deep in his thooughts he didn't see Professor Sprout at first. He'd walked right by the staff room without seeing it.

"Evening, Professor Snape," she said her usual relentlessly cheerful way. "Won't you join us for a game of cards?"

Snape nearly opened his mouth to say no, but he didn't really have anything else to do, and thought he could use a distraction.

"Oh. Well...I suppose," he said. He followed her into the staff room.

Flitwick, McGonagall, Kettleburn and Hagrid sitting around a wooden table, along with, for what reason he had no idea, Professor Trelawney, who was wearing about a hundred necklaces and a long pink shawl. He narrowed his eyes at her as he sat down. He hadn't had to see her since that night in the Hog's Head, and he'd hoped like hell he'd never have to see her again.

Sprout pulled out her wand and tapped a deck of cards, which immediately began dealing themselves. "We were just about to start another round of three-card Brag," she said.

Kettleburn took a bag of Dragon's Breath-flavoured crisps and dumped them into a bowl before passing them around. When they'd made their way to Snape he scooped up a handful and shoved them into his mouth. They weren't bad, but he hoped they didn't make him start breathing fire or some such nonsense.

"Ante up everyone," said Sprout. Snape put his chips on the table, and the cards were dealt. He decided to fold, and soon it was just McGonagall and Trelawney left.

"I'll see," said Trelawney, putting her chips in.

"But surely you could do that already, Sybill," said McGonagall. Snape met her eye at and nearly smiled at this.

"The Inner Eye," Trelawney said, pulling her shawl more tightly around her and looking affronted, "does not concern itself with such mundane things as games." She turned her cards over and McGonagall took the pot.

"Well, I suppose it would explain why you didn't see that coming," said Snape. He shared a glance with McGonagall again and he could've sworn McGonagall's mouth twitched.

Trelawney fixed her magnified eyes on him. "I would fold on the next round, if I were you," she said to him in a lofty voice, as though she hadn't heard him.

"I'll decide that," Snape told her. He had a middling hand, a flush, but decided to stay in, betraying no hint of his bluff. Soon only he and McGonagall were left.

"I'll see," she said, throwing her chips down. Snape showed his hand. She had beaten it with three of a kind. Snape threw an irritated look at Trelawney as she took the pot and another round was dealt.

"You wouldn't happen to have brought any of your dandelion wine, Hagrid?" Sprout asked over her cards, one hand in the bowl of crisps.

"Got it right here, Pomona," he said, pulling several bottles out of his coat. They were filled with deep yellow liquid.

Back his school days Snape and his friends had laughed the groundskeeper off as a big oaf, and Snape had never gotten to know him well. He found it jarring to think of this wild, boorish man doing something as skillful as brewing wine, but when Snape took some and tasted it, he had to admit that it was decent.

"Well, it's down to the two of us again," said McGonagall, looking over her cards at him. He only had a pair of sevens and she'd already called his bluff once, but he thought he might away with it again.

"I'll see," she said, throwing her chips down. Snape did the same, and the cards were shown. She'd beaten him with a flush. The woman was nobody's fool, he had to admit that much.

"I see empty pockets in your future," Trelawney said to him. Snape took a long drink of his wine to stop himself glaring at her.

Bowls of crisps and plates of pork scratchings were making their way around, and Kettleburn lit his pipe and the room was clouded in a haze of smoke. Snape was struck the the sudden realization that he was not, in fact, miserable, and leaned back in his chair a bit as he took another sip of Hagrid's dandelion wine.

Several rounds later the laughter and conversation was flowing more freely and getting louder, and Snape was becoming seriously annoyed with Trelawney, who kept exclaiming over his cards and going on about him mending something. He began to think more of his quiet quarters, and when he'd lost a pot to Flitwick, he drained his wine glass and set it down, then excused himself.

"Goodnight, Severus," said Sprout. "I hope you'll join us again."

"Goodnight, Professor," he said. He cast a brief glance around the room and McGonagall gave him a small nod, and he could have sworn the corners of her mouth lifted.

He made his way back to his room, and only once he was there did he realize that his pockets were indeed empty of coins. The woman was positively unnerving.

He was still annoyed about it the next night, and when his room got too confining he decided to go for a walk in the grounds.

The moon was full, and the snow was so bright it seemed to glow with its own light. The grounds were so quiet and still he could hear his own breathing and the stars looked closer somehow. Snape looked up at the sky and his tension faded away.

When he looked back down he saw two figures in the the distance, two people walking arm in arm. Thinking it might be students out for a walk in the grounds, he strode over towards them, prepared to issue the arrogant little beasts some detentions.

They'd stopped to look at the castle and he watched as the taller of the two pulled the other close and they began to kiss, and when they'd pulled apart they kept their faces close together, foreheads touching.

It wasn't until he was about a dozen yards away that he realized they weren't students at all. They were McGonagall and Elphinstone. His face grew hot, knowing he'd walked in on something private, but when McGonagall saw him standing there she simply nodded and smiled, looking as though she hadn't a care in the world. They turned and walked on and she put her head on Elphinstone's shoulder and Elphinstone put his arm around her and Snape was stricken with some strange longing he couldn't put words to.

He stood there a long time, watching them go. The grounds were cool and white but out of the corner of his eye he saw a low warm light coming from the greenhouses, and he remembered he needed some ingredients for the upcoming term.

When he walked into the greenhouse his ears were filled with the sound of soft, low singing and he recognized snatches of words from an old lullaby. He had the distinct impression Sprout was singing her plants to sleep.

"Evening, Professor Snape," Sprout said when he walked inside, as casually as though she'd been expecting him.

"Good evening," he said. "I was wondering if I might get some fire seeds?"

She dusted her hands off and wiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving a large streak of dirt there, but Snape rather suspected she wouldn't care much if she knew. "This way," she said, leading him into one of the other greenhouses.

He'd always been fascinated by the firebushes, which burned for their entire existence. Even with his heavy cloak on he was chilled and he stepped closer to the fire, holding his hands over it to warm them. Sprout hit one with a freezing charm and extracted enough seeds to fill a small sack.

"This enough for you?"

"That should be enough. Thank you P-" he had started to say her name but couldn't quite bring himself to do it-"Professor," he finished.

She didn't seem to notice this. "You're very welcome," she said.

He noticed that she hadn't made a move to leave the greenhouse, and he stayed where he was, putting his hands in the pockets of his robes. The low-burning fires were their only light and their orange-red reflections played along the windows of the greenhouse.

"That fire feels nice, doesn't it?" said Sprout, holding out her hands in front of it. Snape made a murmur of agreement.

"It took me awhile to get used these Scottish winters," she went on. "I grew up in the south of England, you know."

It was a startling to think of Professor Sprout as a child. He imagined a tiny girl with flyaway hair, barefoot and covered in dirt. "Where about?" he asked her.

"The Cotswolds. Beautiful place. Yourself?"

Snape tensed. He didn't like anyone to know about his childhood. "The Midlands," he murmured, wondering a bit at the contrast between the rolling hills and tidy stone cottages of the Cotswolds and the soot-streaked smokestacks and filthy rivers of Cokeworth. Would they be different people, if they'd grown up in different places? He didn't know.

"How long have you been a teacher here?" he asked her abruptly, changing the subject.

"Oh, I've lost count already. About twenty-five years now." She looked at him and smiled. "You're doing well, you know, for only having been here a few years yourself."

Snape flushed red and couldn't stop himself smirking awkwardly, the way he always did whenever someone gave him a compliment.

"Thank you," he said, and immediately realized how stiff he must have sounded. But perhaps Professor Sprout hadn't noticed, because she gave him a warm look and they stood there watching the fire in comfortable silence.

"How is the Wiggentree growing?" he said after awhile.

"Beautifully," she said, rather enthusiastically. "Why don't we have a look at it?"

He followed her to her office, which was in another greenhouses, and saw that the tree was nearly as tall as he was. He ran his fingers along the bark, knarled and rough with whorls and jagged edges. Just right for potion making.

"It's in excellent condition," he said. "Do you mind if I collect some?"

"Certainly," she said.

Snape drew his wand out of the pocket of his robes and, holding it steady in his hand, sliced off a small patch of bark.

He tucked it into his robes and bid her goodnight, thinking it had been a decent enough distraction.

* * *

Graihagh's dad had never been all that comfortable in Diagon Alley, so it'd been easy for her to convince to him to go for a drink in a pub in Muggle London while she did her shopping. After she'd gotten her money changed over she stocked up on extra Potions ingredients at the apothecary and went to Madam Malkin's and bought two dress robes, a long flowy midnight blue and a silky green. She might've been Muggle-born, but she was going to look like a pureblood, even if it cost her all her spending money.

The first night of the new term, she sat down beside Milo in squashy sofas by the fire where they'd been sitting the last few months.

"How was your holiday?" she asked him.

Milo shrugged, and his face didn't show much emotion. "Yours?"

"Same as yours I reckon," she said, and their eyes met a moment before Milo looked away.

"So can you make me more Stregthening Solution?"

Graihagh had known this was coming, had known Milo and Thorfinn would be on her about it the second they got back, but she wasn't going to give in this time. Only a few weeks before Snape had trapped her in his office, looking angrier than she'd seen him in a long time, ranting about her damaging Slytherin's reputation and dropping all kinds of hints that she'd be expelled if she ever pulled something like that again. She was going places, she was determined of that, but as much as she hated to admit it, she needed Snape to get there, and she intended to stay on his good side.

"I can't," she said.

Milo looked pained. "You don't have to give it to Thorfinn," he said. "Just to me. No one will know."

Graihagh stared ahead and didn't say anything.

"Please?"

He was pleading with her. Graihagh turned to look at him. She didn't see how she could leave him like this. "I'll think about it."

Milo seemed satisfied. He sank back into the sofa. They were quiet awhile, until Thorfinn and another boy came to sit beside her, the same seventh-year who had once cornered her outside the castle after she'd caught him doing whatever it was he was doing deep in the dungeons. She knew him now, Livia's older brother, who played Keeper.

"I've got a request for you," he said, handing her a slip of paper. There was a recipe on it, for Polyjuice Potion. Graihagh knew this potion; she'd read about it once after Snape mentioned it in class.

"I made a mess of mine in class," he said. "But I thought you might be able to do it."

Graihagh scanned the list of ingredients. Most of the things she had, but the apothecary in Diagon Alley didn't carry Boomslang Skin or powdered Bicorn horn. There was only one way to get them, and if she was caught...she didn't want to think about it.

But she saw the way they were looking at her, saw the chance to prove herself. Maybe Snape was just bluffing, he wouldn't expel someone from his own house. She sat and toyed with the parchment in her hands a long time, thinking.

"What do you need it for, anyway?"

"Nothing major. Just for a few laughs."

"Well, I can't promise anything," she said, embarassed at how quickly her resolve to get on Snape's good side had vanished. "But I'll have a crack at it."

"Cheers," said the seventh-year, and he went to join his friends. Thorfinn gave her one of his cocky grins and put his stocking feet up on the low table in front of them.

"You do know that's disgusting, don't you?" said Livia, who was sitting next to him.

He grinned at her and put his feet in her lap instead. She shrieked and laughed and pushed them off, and Graihagh laughed with her.

Livia gave her a sharp, appraising look and eyed the blue dress robes Graihagh had changed into after dinner.

"Nice robes," she said, and Graihagh couldn't detect any sarcasm in her voice.

"Thanks" she said. "I like yours too."

Livia's expression was hard to read. She seemed wary, cautious, but at least she was talking to her."Did you have a good holiday?"

"Yeah, it was alright," said Graihagh, hoping she sounded sincere. "You?"

"It was good." There was something in Livia's voice that told her it hadn't really been great either, and Graihagh remembered her father was in Azkaban.

Thorfinn put his arms around her and she stared shrieking and laughing again, and Graihagh bent down to study the recipe some more, but she couldn't stop herself smiling a bit.

There was still the problem of how to get the ingredients though, and she sat up late into the night, until the fire had burned down to glowing coals, playing every possible scenario in her mind. She'd have to either lure him out of his office long enough to duck in or else sneak out of class and hope it wasn't locked, and neither sounded too appealing. She rummaged through her potions kit, eyes so heavy she could barely keep them open, until she found what she was looking for. She hated the thought of it, but it was the only way.

She was shaking when she woke up the next morning, and scarcely paid any attention to anything or ate any of her breakfast or lunch. She was the last to queue up for Potions, sweaty fist clenched around a wad of Doxy eggs, and when everyone else was inside she shoved them into her mouth, trying not to think too hard about where they'd come from and what they'd have turned into.

She got to work on her Ageing Potion and kept her head down, and they were about twenty minutes into the lesson when her stomach lurched and she shot to her feet, breathing hard to stop herself vomiting.

"Can I be excused sir? I'm not feeling well."

Snape looked up from the book he was reading. "You look fine to me," he said, turning back to his book. "Get back to work."

Graihagh had just opened her mouth to protest when nature intervened and she threw up all over his floor.

Snape slammed his book shut. "Hospital wing, Miss Corlett," he snapped. "And quickly. If you throw up in this classroom one more time you can come back here for your detention and clean it up."

Graihagh picked up her schoolbag and rushed out of the classroom, shutting the door behind her. Stepping lightly, to make her footsteps quiet, she crept down the corridor to his office.

But there was one problem she had completely overlooked. She still needed to throw up. And doing it all over Snape's office would be something of a giveaway.

Her stomach lurched again and she swallowed hard but she knew she couldn't stop it. She did the only thing she could think of, and threw up in her schoolbag, all over her books and parchment. She couldn't do cleansing charms all that well, but she'd worry about that later.

Her fingers were stiff as she opened the cupboards and she was in such a rush she barely read the words on the labels. She had to stop and slow down and read through them again, until she found what she was looking for, Boomslang skin and powdered bicorn horn. She stopped to throw up again, then pulled a jar out of her bag and stuffed them in, taking extra in case she messed up the potion the first try.

She was just outside the classroom when she had to throw up a fourth time. She opened up her bag and retched and she knew she was making way too much noise and she pictured those long thin hands pushing the door open, thought she heard the creak of the hinges, but when she looked up everything was quiet and still. She sighed relief, shaking a bit, and rushed to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping her there for the rest of her lessons, which was fine with her. When she'd put her books away she walked through the dungeon corridors, looking for someplace, anyplace, she could make the potion without anyone finding out. She was walking along a dark, damp, little-used corridor when she found the storage closet.

It was a cramped space, dark and mouldy-smelling, but maybe that was a good sign, it couldn't have been used much. She went back to get her cauldron and when she'd made a makeshift table out of an upturned crate she set to work stewing lacewing flies, only stopping to go to dinner because she was too hungry to focus anymore.

She sat down next to Milo in the Great Hall.

"Feeling better?" he said.

She was wrung-out and shaky from not having eaten, but her stomach was comfortably still.

"Yeah," she said. "And I got the ingredients and found a place to make the potion." She dumped some ketchup on her shepherd's pie. "I hope it's this works, if that greasy bastard catches me I'm fucked."

Milo didn't say anything, just picked at his shepherd's pie. Graihagh thought there was something was bothering him, but she knew he'd never tell her if there was, so she didn't ask.

They were making their way down the dungeon steps when Graihagh heard a voice from somewhere behind her.

"Cadere!"

Milo stumbled and fell face first into the stairs, nearly smashing his face. Graihagh pulled out her wand and whipped around and she'd just began to mouth the incantation when there was a low guttural noise, like a trapped animal, and before Graihagh understood what was happening Milo shot to his feet and lunged for McCulloch, teeth bared and fists clenched, biting and punching and growling like something feral, something possessed. Fenwick grabbed him from behind and tried to pull him away, but he couldn't do it.

Graihagh went rigid. She'd never seen anyone like this. She was afraid to touch him.

"What is all this?"

Before anyone could answer, Snape caught hold of Milo. He was a scrawny man, arms like sticks, but he pulled Milo away as easily as though he were a small child.

Milo didn't seem to know what was going on, his face was deep red and he was struggling to break free of Snape's grip. Snape was holding Milo from behind, and Graihagh saw his arms tighten around him.

Snape glared at McCulloch and Fenwick. "One hundred points from Gryffindor. Now get out of my sight."

They took off, pale and shaken, and Graihagh wondered how far and fast the story of Milo's attack would spread.

Milo was still struggling in Snape's arms.

"It's going to be alright," Snape murmured, and Graihagh wondered if he was keeping his voice low on purpose, to calm him. "You're alright."

Milo was breathing hard but his arms and legs went slack and he stopped fighting. He gasped for air and Graihagh saw that his face was wet.

A shudder coursed through Snape, and his mouth thinned as though he'd tasted something bitter. Graihagh was sure he was going to let go, but he didn't. He kept holding on to Milo as everything he'd been keeping in came out of him, and Graihagh just stared as this strange, evil man held her friend while he cried, held him until his gasping stopped and his breathing slowed.

When Milo was quiet and still Snape let go. "Go to the hospital wing," he said, his voice strangely, jarringly gentle. "Have Madam Pomfrey give you a calming draught."

Milo nodded, and Graihagh walked beside him as they made their way to the hospital wing.

The potion worked straight away, though by the time they got to the common room after dinner, Graihagh could sense it wearing off. Milo started to fidget in his seat and tapped his fingers against the sofa.

Graihagh glanced up at the clock on the mantel and saw that she was nearly late to meet Cate, but she wondered if she should leave him the way he was. She turned to him and lowered her voice. "Will you be alright here?"

Milo made a face. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

He hated to be pitied, Graihagh knew this about him, and she didn't press it. "Yeah, I don't know, stupid question. I'm going to go meet Cate, alright?"

Milo gave a non-committal grunt and opened a bottle of pumpkin juice.

Graihagh dashed up the dungeon steps, trying not to think about anything, but she couldn't get the sight of Snape out of her mind, Snape holding Milo while he cried, Snape showing them how to do a Shield Charm. And she'd gone and stolen from him.

"Sorry," she breathed when she sat down next to Cate on the steps. They'd only just patched things up, and she hoped this wouldn't annoy her.

"No problem," said Cate, handing Graihagh a bag of Every-Flavour Beans. She stuffed some into her mouth and Graihagh wondered how she could stand all those flavours mixing together. "You all right? How was your holiday?"

Graihagh shrugged. "It was ok, I suppose."

Cate looked at her closely, but didn't say anything.

She chatted away about her holidays, but all Graihagh could think about was about her mother, and Milo's meltdown, and the potion beginning to brew in the storage closet.

"You don't need to hide anything from me," said Cate.

Graihagh shrugged again. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Graihagh snapped. "There's nothing wrong, so just drop it."

Cate looked at her a long time. She lifted her arm, then seemed to change her mind and set it at her side again. Before Graihagh knew what was happening Cate had wrapped her arms around her.

Graihagh stiffened. Then she turned to her and put her head on her shoulder.


	25. Chapter 25

Snape had to stop himself smashing his alarm clock when it went off in the morning. He liked the dark and quiet of night he'd stayed up too late again, reading and making potions. He thought of rolling over and closing his eyes awhile, but was afraid he would oversleep, so he got up and filled his old clawfoot bathtub with warm water.

He didn't bother with it, most mornings he liked the extra time to read or sit and think in front of his fire, and lying in a bath staring at the ceiling seemed like a complete waste of his time. And though he would never had admitted it to anyone, he'd never really been sure how often to do it, never really knew what ordinary people did in the mornings, because his mother so often slept late, and there was rarely any extra money for things like haircuts.

But he wasn't trying to impress anyone now, and he supposed it didn't matter.

He bathed quickly, drying himself off with a flick of his wand, and shaved his face with an enchanted razor Lucius had given him as a Christmas gift once, giving his reflection only the briefest glance, because he hated the sight of himself, that hooked nose he'd gotten from his fucking father. Sometimes he felt disconnected from his own body, as though his reflection belonged to someone else, and he had to touch his face to see if it was real.

He walked to breakfast slowly, reluctantly, as though by dawdling he could slow down time. It was Monday, which meant that after a full day of classes he had to sit through another staff meeting.

When he'd finished his dinner and walked into the staff room he found a spot between Professors Sprout and Flitwick, who gave him friendly greetings, and it was the usual business at first, until Madam Pomfrey spoke up. Her mouth was turned down at the corners and she looked troubled.

"There have been students turning up at the hospital wing with nasty injuries," she said. "One boy had such painful boils he could barely walk."

A ripple of concerned muttering spread through the staff.

Madam Pomfrey went on. "Not one of them will tell me who did it."

Snape glanced at the other teachers and saw McGonagall's brows contract over her nose. He felt the smallest twinge of disquiet at this himself, and after the meeting, as he stood with McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout, they discussed it amongst themselves.

"I want you all to remain alert to anything suspicious," said McGonagall. "This cannot be allowed to continue."

He couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the way she was taking command of the situation, but hoped she would look closely into her own house. No doubt it was some arrogant little troublemaker following the footsteps of Potter and Black.

"We certainly will Minerva," said Sprout.

"Indeed," piped up Flitwick. McGonagall glanced at Snape and he nodded.

He was more alert than usual as he walked through the corridors over the next few days, watching the students as they passed him, listening for any shouting or scuffling from empty classrooms. He was passing through a fourth-floor corridor one night after dinner when he heard a muffled grunt of pain and when he opened the door to the classroom it was to find three first-year Hufflepuff girls standing over McCulloch, who was doubled over on the floor.

The girls looked up at him with their mouths open.

Snape stared back at them. _Legilimens. _He saw flashes of robes being stolen from the laundry, a flask full of dull brown potion, hairs being plucked from three heads.

He knelt down and picked up the Gryffindor boy, half-carrying him to the door. The boy reminded him so much of Potter, he didn't know what to think of it all.

"I'm talking McCulloch to the hospital wing," he said to the girls. "You will wait here for me."

Supporting the boy's arms he brought him to the hospital wing, turning to leave as soon as Madam Pomfrey had taken him, because he didn't want her asking too many questions. When he returned to the classroom he found the three girls waiting for him, shifting on their feet and looking nervous.

"Follow me," he said, and he led them down to his office. "Sit."

He conjured two more chairs and the three of them sat down in front of his desk. He stood and watched them, knowing he wouldn't have to wait long for the potion to wear off.

Sure enough, only fifteen minutes or so had passed before the boys' hair shrank back into their heads and their arms and legs shot out and made them rise in their chairs. Rowle, Selwyn, and Travers. There was a faint ripping noise as Rowle's robes split open under the strain of his bulky arms. There was something amusing about it to be sure, but mostly he was annoyed.

"Disguising yourself as first-year Hufflepuffs," he said, a note of disdain in his voice.

Rowle looked unabashed, Travers nervous. Selwyn flushed deep red, and Snape suspected he was the most embarassed of the three.

"You do realize that the entire staff knows about it? Had you been caught by anyone else, it would be all over the school. I should think Slytherin House means more to you than that."

By the looks on their faces, they hadn't even considered this. Even Rowle looked taken aback.

"Not to mention the fact that the use of Polyjuice Potion by students is against school rules," he went on. He looked round at them all. "Detention, all of you, Saturday night. And don't let me catch you at it again."

The boys exchanged glances, and Snape's eyes moved from Rowle to Travers. "Go," he said to them. "I would like a word with Mr. Selwyn."

The boys shot a quick glance at the Selwyn, who gave them the smallest shake of the head, and Snape knew he wasn't going to get anything more information out of him. But he didn't need to; he knew perfectly well who'd made the potion. Hardly any of his students were capable of brewing Polyjuice Potion, and only one would be so insolent as to brew it outside of class.

There were other things on his mind now, though why he cared, he couldn't really say.

"I was just wondering how you've been keeping."

The boy opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again. "Fine sir," he muttered.

"That was a rather severe attack on McCulloch," he said. "Had you not been stopped he could've been seriously injured."

"I'm sorry sir," said the boy in a rush. "I just..."

"You wanted revenge?"

The boy seemed surprised that he'd said this. "Yes sir."

Snape looked at him a long while, tracing his mouth with a finger, not knowing what to say because he understood so completely.

"But you know how to defend yourself, do you not?"

"Well...I mean, I sort of was defending myself, wasn't I? Sometimes you have to get aggressive. So they'll leave you alone."

"I suppose there's some truth in that," said Snape slowly. "But all the same, be careful, do you understand? It would be best if you not do something like that again. I suspect he'll leave you alone now."

The boy nodded, and Snape looked at him closely.

"If you are ever in need of anything," he said, with a slight grimace, because the words were costing him, "You can come to me."

The boy nodded, and Snape already hoped he wouldn't. Dealing with his students' personal problems was by far the most agonizing part of his job, one he mercifully didn't have to do all that often.

"Thank you sir," said the boy. He glanced towards the door.

"You may go," said Snape. The boy was halfway out the door before he'd even finished speaking, and Snape understood how uncomfortable it had been for him.

The moment the boy was gone he pulled opened the cupboard door and scanned the jars, and just as he suspected some of Boomslang skin was missing. His fury shot through him like venom. A trespass on his office was a trespass against his authority and against him personally. And the stuff had cost him a small fortune.

Snape's rage came charging through him at unexpected times. Sometimes it was the way one of the students swaggered down the corridor, or the sight of the Gryffindor Quidditch team coming into the Great Hall in their scarlet robes. Sometimes it was for no reason at all.

He didn't like to lose control of himself; that was for weaker people, people like his father, but he couldn't seem to help it, and now his rage was so overpowering, so in need of some release he picked up a jar of pickled newts and smashed it against the wall.

Hee stood with his hands on his desk, breathing hard, abashed. Such antics were not going to solve this. He would need to use his mind.

He remembered a storage closet deep in the dungeons, and the strange fumes he'd smelled there once, and on a hunch he walked the dungeon corridors until he found it. There were voices inside and he stepped closer, making his footsteps light so they wouldn't hear him.

"-what if he knows it was you?" a voice was saying. The Selwyn boy.

"It could have been anyone, all the seventh-year N.E.W.T students will've learned how to make it," said the Corlett girl. "As long as no one snitches there's no way that greasy wanker will find out, he hasn't got a clue I'm brewing potions right under his big fucking nose-"

Snape pulled the door open. "Haven't I?"

The girl gasped and stared at him with her mouth open.

Snape turned to the Selwyn boy. "Go," he commanded, and the boy took off running and didn't look back.

"Well, Miss Corlett," he said. "It seems we are in big fucking trouble."

Paying no mind to the girl's shocked face, he scooped up some of the muddy brown liquid in a ladle and watched it fall back into the cauldron.

"Polyjuice potion," he said, turning to glare at her. "And where could you have gotten the ingredients for this?"

"I-I bought the ingredients-"

"Don't lie to me!" His voice was getting louder; he was losing control. "So. You dare break into my office and steal from me?"

The girl opened her mouth but didn't say anything.

"I hope you realize, Miss Corlett, that it is within my power to tell the Headmaster to have you expelled."

Her face contorted in terror but he was too swept up in his own fury to enjoy the effect.

"No. No, please. I'll never do it again, I swear."

He had her pleading now. He looked at her, trying to steady his breathing, trying to master himself.

"Well, perhaps it won't be necessary," he said, knowing how unlikely it was that Dumbledore would approve of the expulsion. He waited until the terrified face had started to slacken. "I think a detention every Friday night for the rest of your school career should occupy enough of your time to keep you from stealing. And if you ever do it again," he added, his voice low, fierce, "I will make sure you are expelled."

He watched her walk away, and by the time he'd returned to his office he felt somewhat calmer despite his revulsion at the thought of having to arrange her detentions every week.

He retired to his room for the night but he couldn't settle to his book, and after just a page or two he slammed it shut and tossed it on the floor. She'd disrespected him, humiliated him, stolen valuable ingredients, but knew there was more to it than that. She was his most promising student, one of the few who truly understood his subject, and she was throwing it all away.

_Rather like him._

But he pushed that thought away.

* * *

Graihagh sank back into the sofa in the common room, rubbing her forehead with one hand, drained and shaken, but Milo and his friends rounded on her almost the moment she sat down.

"What did he do?" said Milo. From between her fingers Graihagh saw that his forehead was creased and he looked worried.

"The bastard put me in detention every Friday night until I leave." She took her hand from her face. "I just don't understand how he knew."

"He sort of caught us using it," said Thorfinn.

"What, you mean he caught you disguising yourselves as those Hufflepuff girls?"

"Yeah."

"What'd he do to you?"

"Detention."

Thorfinn's lips were twitching as though he was trying not to smile and Graihagh's resentment shot through her. After everything they'd done, all the shit they'd pulled with her potion, it would be her taking the fall. She'd gotten so deep into it she had no idea what she was going to do now that it was gone.

"I'm going to bed," she said.

Sometimes the other girls in her year would lounge around in the dormitory, reading magazines and listening to the wireless, but it was empty now, and Graihagh sank into her bed with her hangings closed and shut her eyes, listening to gentle swish of the water against the walls. After awhile the other girls started coming in, and she stuck her pillow over her ears and tried to ignore the talking and laughing, waiting until the voices softened to whispers and slowed to deep breathing before she took it away from her ears. She punched it down and flipped it over to the cool side but she couldn't lie still. She had so many emotions going through her at once, rage and disappointment and shame, she couldn't untangle them all, and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

She didn't want to go to breakfast, she was terrified of walking up to the Slytherin table only to find that Milo and Thorfinn and the rest had turned their backs on her and she'd have to sit alone, the way she'd had to do in primary school, but she couldn't focus if she didn't eat, so, arms and legs shaking so much it was hard to walk, she made her way to the Slytherin table.

Milo and Thorfinn made room for her and as she sat down next to them and she was so relieved her muscles relaxed and her shaking stopped. She propped up her head with one hand and picked half-heartedly at her scrambled eggs, fighting to keep her eyes open.

Milo leaned in closer to her. "I'm really sorry about what happened," he whispered.

He looked like he meant it, and Graihagh nodded her thanks. She'd just turned back to her food when there was an outbreak of shrieking from the Ravenclaw table and she looked up to see people running from their seats as Peeves flung tarantulas at them. There was a confusion of running and puffs of smoke and Filch shouting threats at Peeves and Graihagh was glad that she was at least feeling more awake now.

She barely kept her eyes open during class that day and fell asleep in front of the common room fire after dinner. When she woke up the fire burned so low the light barely touched the deep green shadows and to her surprise Milo was sitting beside her, waiting for her to wake up. The only other person there was Thorfinn, who came and sat down beside them.

"Sorry about what happened," he said.

Graihagh had a feeling he was really only sorry that his supply of potions had been cut off, and just shrugged

"Listen," he said. "Are you two doing anything tomorrow night?"

Graihagh glanced at Milo, not really sure why Thorfinn was asking. Sometimes the Quidditch team would go off and do something together, but they never invited anyone else to join them.

"No," she said.

"Why don't you meet me in dungeon seven? It's not far from the Potions classroom."

"For what?"

"You'll see."

Graihagh would've been lying to herself if she claimed she didn't know exactly what he meant, and when she was giddy and keyed-up as she and Milo walked through the dungeon corridors the next night, more than she'd been in a long time.

A few people turned to look at them when they walked in. Livia's wide blue eyes shone in the soft light and a thrill went through Graihagh, the thrill of going somewhere, of something about to happen.

"I think it's about time we inducted these two as members," said Thorfinn to Travers, who seemed to be the leader of the group.

Travers nodded at Milo but his eyes swept over Graihagh, cold and scrutinizing, a bit like Livia's. "Isn't your father a Muggle?"

"Yeah," said Graihagh, unable to keep a warning out of her voice. She wasn't about to let anyone bad-mouth her father.

"Is your mother a witch?"

"I don't know."

Travers narrowed his eyes at her. "How do you not know?"

"She left," said Graihagh, and her voice had an edge to it now. She didn't think she liked him.

"What was her name then?"

"Alethea Bennett."

"Sounds like a wizarding name," said Thorfinn from beside him. "And, you know." He nodded his head at Graihagh, and she knew what he meant to say. _We could use her._

"Yeah. Maybe." Travers looked her over again. "I suppose we could do it."

Graihagh looked from one to the other. "Do what?"

"Initiation," he said simply. He pulled an old book out of his robes. "Think you can make this?"

Graihagh looked over the potion, a potion for blood oaths, and she remembered the shining cauldron she'd seen years ago. "I think so." She played the parchment in her hands and looked at Travers. "You don't, you know, do any dark magic or anything do you?"

"Define dark magic."

Graihagh wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say, but it hadn't been this. "I don't know...like hurting people and that sort of thing."

"Nobody's died, if that's what you mean."

Livia made a face at her. "Whatever you've heard about us is rubbish. We mostly practice dueling and that sort of thing. Skull and Serpent has been around for ages, it's tradition."

This hadn't really answered her question, but she didn't press it any further. She valued tradition as much as any other Slytherin, she didn't really want to give up flying and wearing comfortable robes everyday and using magic for everything. And in those moments when her defenses were down, in those flashes of unflinching honesty, she'd knew dark magic fascinated her.

She pulled her potions kit out of her robes and set to work as the others waited. Before long the cauldron was bubbled clear and thin, like water, only it seemed to glow with its own light. Graihagh stared into it until she couldn't see anything else.

Travers tapped her on the arm. "Pull up your left sleeve," he said. Graihagh glanced at Milo and saw that he'd already done it.

Graihagh knew what was coming, and she closed her eyes and clenched her jaw to stop herself crying out when Travers took the blade to her arm. The cut throbbed and stung but Travers pressed the chalice against her and the cold metal soothed the pain. When he'd pulled it away she opened her eyes and watched as Travers poured it into the cauldron, chanting strange words, ancient words, that had their own haunting melody. The liquid inside turned deep red.

Travers scooped some of the potion into another chalice and handed it to Milo. "By drinking this you swear your loyalty to us," he said, in a voice so serious Graihagh had to stifle a laugh.

"Repeat after me. _Iuro cum sanguis meus."_

"_Iuro cum sanguis meus,"_ said Milo. His eyes were shining in the low light and she understood what this meant to him, to be welcomed into someone's inner circle.

Travers scooped more potion and put the chalice to Graihagh's lips and said the same to her, though she thought his voice was harsher somehow, almost threatening, as though Graighagh had already betrayed them.

"_Iuro cum sanguis meus,_" muttered Graihagh. She drank until it was empty, trying to ignore the strange metallic aftertaste on her tongue.

Travers finished the induction, but she only half-heard what he was saying, she was too busy pressing the sleeve of her robe to her arm to staunch the bleeding, hoping it would stop, because she didn't have a clue what she'd say to Madam Pomfrey if she had to go to the hospital wing.

Thorfinn clapped Milo on the back, and Travers stood and faced them all. "I thought we'd practice a bit of dueling," he said. He divided them into pairs, smirking when he got to his sister. "You can practice with her," he said, nodding to Graihagh.

Graihagh's fist clenched around her wand when Livia shot him an annoyed look, as though practicing with her was some sort of punishment. She understood then, that her status as Muggle-born, half-blood at most, put her at the very margins of the group, not much more than an uninvited guest, but it only made her more determined. She'd just have to work that much harder, that was all, make them see what she was capable of.

She raised her wand and faced Livia, whose eyes were locked with hers, face serious and determined, and Graihagh stared back into them in something of a daze. Livia had never looked at her for so long.

They circled each other, but Graihagh was too fluttery and keyed-up to focus, too busy looking at her face, and within minutes Livia had got her with a Body-Bind Curse.

Her elbow slammed into the dungeon floor and she would've cursed out loud if her lips would move. Livia knelt beside her and tapped her with her wand. "_Finite._"

Graihagh sat up and rubbed her elbow.

"Here," said Livia. "I'll help you up."

She held out her hand, so soft and warm in hers Graihagh didn't want to let go, and she didn't understand. When Livia had walked away she shook her arms as though shaking off the memory of how it felt, as though she could shake off a part of herself she didn't want.

Travers gave her a cold look, and she looked away to stop herself glaring at him. She'd just have to work harder, that was all.

When they'd finished she stopped in the girl's toilets just off her dormitory, looking up into the mirror as she washed her hands in the stone sink. She thought she'd look different somehow, but she had the same thin face, same dark eyes. Her arm stung and when she pulled up the sleeve of her robes the cut was still red-raw and bleeding slightly. There was going to be a scar there, probably, though whether it'd be permanent or not she didn't know.

The spring and summer terms passed by quickly, with their weekly meetings and her detentions with Snape and all those mornings she got up early to walk the grounds and look for thistle and asphodel and other ingredients for her potions kit. She saw Cate nearly every day, in the library or the basement steps or the courtyard, and one morning, a few weeks before the end of term, she got a letter from her dad telling her Cate could come to visit them in Mann.

Milo cornered Graihagh in the common room when she came in to put her things away before dinner later that day. She'd planned to eat her dinner quickly and sit with Cate on the basement steps after.

"I've thought of a way for you to keep making your potions," he said.

Graihagh was frustrated that he wouldn't drop it. "He's going to have me thrown out if I'm caught, you know," she told him, an edge to her voice.

"You won't be making them here. I thought maybe you could spend the summer with me."

"But we're not allowed."

"They can't tell if you're from a wizarding family. Mum and dad let me practice if I'm careful. So do you want to do it? I could write to them and tell them you're coming."

Graihagh stood and played with the folds of her robes, thinking of Cate and her dad and the three of them walking together by the sea eating ice cream. Of the sunset off Bradda Head and her granny and how she'd always tell Graihagh to wave to the little people whenever they were driving down the A5 and crossed the Fairy Bridge. She thought of her potions, and how far they'd gotten her, and how her hands ached for the challenge of making more. How much Milo depended on her, how his performance had been slipping since she'd stopped making Girding Potion. He could fly well enough, but he couldn't throw the Quaffle very far, and Slytherin had only narrowly scraped a win for the Cup.

And she wanted to stay in the wizarding world.

"Something wrong?"

"No, it's fine. I'll do it."

Milo smiled at her, and she wondered if there was more to him wanting to her to spend the summer with him than the potions, and didn't know what to think. She cared for him so much, but he'd never been anything more than a friend to her.

Her head was a mess of confusing thoughts as she sat down with Cate on the basement steps.

Cate looked ready to fly out of her skin. "So am I coming to visit you this summer?"

Graihagh couldn't look at her. She stared down at her robes.

"I might be spending the summer with one of my Slytherin friends," she said.

"Oh." Graihagh looked up and saw that Cate was confused. She knew all about Milo, and that she'd been spending a bit of time with Livia and her friends. But it must have seemed strange, just the same.

"It's not Livia Travers, is it?" said Cate.

"No, it's not her."

"Good. She's got a massive stick up her arse, that one, hasn't she?"

She smiled at Graihagh and Graihagh couldn't help smiling back.

"Yeah, she does."

Cate didn't say anything and Graihagh knew she was waiting to for her to tell her. "It's Milo, actually," she said.

Cate's eyebrows went up. "Are you-?"

"No," said Graihagh quickly. "It's just...I'm helping him with some things. I think he's sort of lonely actually."

"Oh," said Cate, and there was something like understanding on her face. Graihagh had told her once that Milo relied on her, and she liked it, but it must have still seemed weird. Graihagh found it hard to look at her face. She'd always told Cate everything, but now there were things she didn't know. She rubbed the scar on her left arm.

"Do you have his address?" said Cate. "I could write to you."

Only then did she realize that Milo wouldn't have a Muggle mailing address. "Well, it's a wizarding family," she said. "But I could send you owls."

"Okay." Cate was quiet then, and so was Graihagh. All her excitment at spending the summer in the wizarding world was fading, and the summer seemed to stretch out ahead of her like some fog-obscured path, unknown and dim.

* * *

**A/N: **Graihagh's bisexual orientation is just something I threw in there because it was fun for me to write about, it's not going to affect the story in any significant way-I won't go on and on about it or anything :) This is very much a friendship story and a story about her relationship with Snape as his student and troubled protege, and their interactions will get deeper as the story goes on.

Thanks so much for reading, and thanks to everyone who as favourited/followed!


	26. Chapter 26

Sometimes Snape wished he could slip out of his body like a robe and put on a new one, one that fit him better, limbs that moved with an easy grace and a mouth that said all the right things and eyes that hadn't seen torture. But he couldn't, and there were days when every second he spent with people all he could think about was how they saw him, how he sounded to them, what they thought of him.

And yet, there were times when he did something right, times he was almost pleased with himself, and as annoying as it was for him to have to arrange the Corlett girl's detentions every week, he thought he'd handled the situation rather well. At the next staff meeting he gave them all a rough account of what happened and what he'd done about it, glossing over his students' attacks on the McCulloch boy.

When McGonagall dismissed them and everyone was shuffling about in their seats and standing up, she walked over to him.

"I just wanted to say," she said, and he detected a marked absence of disdain, "that I think you handled the situation well."

"Thank you Professor," he said, with none of his usual sarcasm, feeling that grudging respect for her returning again.

He was so used to seeing her at the staff table in the mornings, even if they didn't say much to each other, that he was surprised one morning to find her seat empty. Nor did she appear at lunch. He was eating dinner in the Great Hall when Dumbledore strode up to the table, looking shaken.

"I have just had some terrible news," he told them all. They all looked up at him, expectant and alarmed. "Elphinstone died this morning."

"What happened?" cried Professor Sprout, her soup spoon falling to the table.

"Minerva found him in the garden. It appears he was bitten by a Venomous Tentacula."

Professor Sprout shot out of her seat and ran out of the Great Hall, and Snape supposed she was going to see her, he often saw them talking together. Not long after the other members of the staff got up and left; no one seemed to feel much like eating. He'd seen McGonagall and Elphinstone together enough times to understand what a loss this was, but all the same, he couldn't really summon much sympathy. They'd at least had some time together, and she didn't have to suffer the agony of being responsible for his death.

Elphinstone was buried in a little cemetery just beyond Hogsmeade, towards the mountains. It was a mild spring day and the sun was bright and the buds opening on the trees, and it didn't seem right, somehow.

McGonagall was barely able to stand. She was led to her seat by a dark-haired man who resembled her and whom he supposed must be her brother, and when she'd sat down she put her face in her hands and sobbed into her handkerchief. A wizard in long black robes made his way to the front and started speaking, and when he delivered the eulogy, telling everyone about Elphinstone's distinguished career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his charitable work, his happy marriage, McGonagall broke down completely, and the sounds were too strange, too jarring, too at odds with everything he'd ever known about her. He shifted in his seat and tried to block out the sound, but couldn't

Elphinstone was clearly a well-liked and respected man; the little cemetery was packed with Ministry officials, including the Minister herself. When it was over McGonagall was helped to her feet by the man he thought was her brother and a young woman around his own age who stood beside her with her arm around her, and the rest of them queued up to offer their condolences. Snape didn't really know what to say. He watched as she was embraced by Professor Sprout, as Dumbledore took her hands in both of his and grasped them tightly. Once he had moved away, Snape stood and faced her.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Professor," he told her seriously, hoping he didn't sound too stiff.

She nodded to him. "Thank you Severus," she said, trying to look at him through her wet eyes.

He walked away left the cemetery with the rest of the staff. No one said anything as they walked back to the castle. It was a Saturday and there were no classes, so most of them went back to their offices or their rooms, and Snape started marking essays but couldn't muster the concentration to get through his students' drivel. He went to his room to read.

Dumbledore insisted that McGonagall take the rest of the term off, and he didn't see her again until the last day. He watched as she made her way into the Entrance Hall, pointing her wand at her trunk to make it move ahead of her. Her shaking hand was the only outward sign of her grief.

"Good morning, Severus," she greeted him as he made his way towards her. He glanced towards her trunk.

"I couldn't quite bring myself to stay at the cottage, so I've decided to move back to my old room," she explained.

"That is understandable," he said. "How are you keeping?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected," she told him, giving him the smallest smile, and Snape knew she didn't want him to feel too badly for her. He hadn't really anyway, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

She was silent a moment, looking away from him at something he couldn't see. "I knew Elphinstone for quite a long time, you know," she said finally. "Since my first year out of Hogwarts, in fact. We were friends a long time before we married." She paused again. "Lately I find myself wondering...if I had done it sooner..." She quickly looked away from him; her eyes had grown wet.

He thought of his own regrets. But this was something he knew he would never tell her, and he didn't say anything.

"Well," she said, recovering herself. "I suppose there's no point in dwelling upon that now, is there?"

She raised her trunk back into the air with her wand. "Do have a good holiday, Severus."

"Thank you, Professor."

She turned as though to keep walking, but stopped suddenly and turned to face him. "Would you care to have a drink with me before you leave?"

This was so unexpected Snape said yes before he'd even really realized it, and followed her to the room just off her office, a small space with a tall window and shelves full of books she hadn't taken with her when she'd moved into the cottage with Elphinstone.

McGonagall set down her trunk with a flick of the wand and shook off her cloak, then opened the drawer to her desk and pulled out a bottle of Scotch.

"Glendronach," she said. "A favourite of my father's."

As she twisted the cap off the bottle and poured it into two ice-filled glasses she'd conjured Snape had a sudden image of her sitting in her office after a long, frustrating day with students and pouring herself a stiff glass. He nearly smiled.

Snape was never a connoisseur of anything; he'd roll his eyes when Lucius would swirl his wine in front of his face and sniff it before going on and on about bouquets and tannins and a lot of other pretentious shit he didn't care about. But one sip of Minerva's Scotch told Snape this was top-of-the-line stuff, and he was flattered that she'd shared it with him.

"I'm not even going to ask you how your year was," McGonagall said with a wry smile. "I know perfectly well you don't like teaching."

Snape took a drink and tried to pretend he didn't know what she was talking about, but he supposed there was no fooling her, really.

"How long have you been teaching?" he asked her.

"Oh, about thirty years now," she said. She took a drink and looked at him closely. "I remember your school days very well. You were one of my best students, you know."

There was something like a scold in her voice, and Snape couldn't meet her eye.

Perhaps McGonagall didn't notice, or perhaps she didn't want to dwell on it, because her voice went softer. "I went to school with your mother. You remind me so much of her."

Snape felt a twinge of something he couldn't explain. "Did you know her well?"

"We were in the same year, actually. We had a bit of an academic rivalry, to tell you the truth. But I rather liked her. Never saw her without a stack of books in her arms, always headed to the library. And she was one hell of a gobstones player."

Snape knew this, but he wanted to hear more about her. "Was she?"

"Oh yes. Hogwarts competed against Beauxbatons her first year as captain, in fact. Flattened them."

There was a strange expression on her face, whether sadness or pity he didn't know. "She must've been so pleased, when you accepted a teaching post here," she said.

Snape shifted in his seat and watched the amber liquid swirl around in his glass. "Yes, I suppose she was."

He knew were both thinking of his past, and the silence was loud with so many unspoken things.

"Well," said Snape, swirling the last of his Scotch in his mouth and setting his glass down, "I suppose I ought to get going."

McGonagall set her glass down and stood up. "Thank you for joining me, Severus."

She extended her hand and Snape shook it. "You're welcome," he said. He turned and left the room, making for the grounds and Spinner's End, almost wishing he could've spent the summer at the castle.

* * *

Graihagh sighed with relief when she stepped of the broom and became visible again. Milo had told her their family broom had a built-in Disillusionment Charm but nothing could have prepared her for the extreme weirdness of flying through the air without being able to see herself. It was luxurious, that broom, so comfortable she hardly realized she was riding one, but her legs were a bit wobbly when she stepped off just the same.

A tiny, wrinkled creature appeared with a sound like a whip-crack, and Graihagh's mouth dropped open.

"The trunks, if you please, Teensy," Milo's father said to it in a friendly way. The elf unhooked the trunks from the broom, placed its tiny hands on them and vanished with another crack.

His father smiled at her expression. "We have our own house-elf," he explained to her as they walked up the path. "Very useful creatures."

The sky was black and full of stars but the pathway was lit with lanterns and as they started up the drive a brick Georgian house came into view. Graihagh glanced at Milo, eyebrows raised, impressed, and he gave her a self-conscious sort of smile. A woman in flowing robes met them at the door, putting a hand on Milo's shoulder in greeting and looking over at Graihagh.

"Welcome to our home," she said, but she wasn't really smiling and her eyes flickered down to the cat carrier Graihagh was clutching and her Muggle trainers. Graihagh tensed, sure she'd made a bad impression.

They walked into the front hall together, where there was statue of a rearing Centaur with all its oversized anatomy showing that she couldn't stop staring at because it was so ridiculous. Milo's father took her shock for admiration.

"Just had that installed last year," he said, beaming at it.

Graihagh murmured something indistinct and followed Milo and his mother upstairs, looking all around her at the staring portraits and shields and daggers on the walls that made a strange contrast with the enchanted flowers in vases that bloomed whenever they passed. The bedroom had a large four poster bed not unlike the one she slept in at school, tall windows with heavy red curtains, and a wardrobe made of dark wood. The ceiling had been enchanted to show the constellations.

She was unsure of herself those first few days, spending most of her time cloistered in her room getting started on a batch of Stengthening Solution and Wit-Sharpening Solution. She knew the other Slytherins wouldn't turn her in, and it felt good to be back in business. She only wished she still had the Boomslang skin.

One afternoon Milo told her they were having important guests over for dinner, so after she'd finished her potion-making she washed and put on her dark blue dress robes. When she came into the dining room three people she'd never seen before were sitting at the table, a man, a woman and a little boy she supposed must be a family, and Graihagh noticed right away that both the man and his wife or girlfriend were very good-looking, with their blonde hair and pale faces. A flutter of excitement went through her as she sat down.

The little elf, Teensy, set a large silver dish on the table and pulled up the lid. A flock of birds flew out of it and inside was what appeared to be a miniature forest made of food. The elf made the plates fly to them and Graihagh took a bite of something that had been grass in the forest scene and dumped some ketchup on it.

"We have a guest staying with us this summer," Milo's father said in his easy way. "This is Miss Graihagh Corlett. Miss Corlett, this is Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."

"Corlett?" said the man, looking at her with an eyebrow slightly raised, and Graihagh knew what he was thinking. A dirty common Muggle name, that's all that was.

"Who was your mother?" he said.

Graihagh glanced down at her plate. "Alethea Bennett," she told him. Mr. Malfoy had gone quiet, and when Graihagh glanced up his eyes were locked with his wife's and it struck her. _They knew her._

"Did you know her?" she said, looking from one to the other, rising in her seat a little.

"I knew her," Mrs. Malfoy said, spearing a piece of broccoli. "She was a friend of one of my sisters."

A shock went through her and she gaped at them, mouth open, until the woman raised an eyebrow at her and she hastily looked down. There was something in her voice she didn't like, something that told her they knew what had happened to her. But she must've been a witch, if she'd been their friend, and that was something.

The adults started chatting about friends and acquaintances and goings-on at the Ministry, Graihagh chanced a glance at Mr. Malfoy and his wife, who was bent over the boy's plate, cutting up his meat for him. She thought she knew that name, Malfoy. These were important people and she felt alert and attuned to a conversation she might've been too overwhelmed for otherwise.

"I have a proposal to make to young Milo," she heard Mr. Malfoy say after awhile. Milo looked up.

"Oh? And what would that be?" said his father.

"I've ordered some extensive landscaping done at the manor this summer. I could use an extra set of hands. He would be rewarded handsomely for his efforts, of course."

"He'd be allowed to use magic I take it?" his father asked, voice sharper than usual. "Not doing grunt work all summer?"

"Certainly."

Milo's father turned to him. "Well, Milo? What do you think?"

Graihagh fixed her eyes on him, willing him to understand what she was thinking. His parents seemed nice enough, but she wasn't too keen on spending hours alone with them just the same. And she wanted an excuse to hang around these people, the Malfoys, who had known her mother.

"I-yeah," he said quietly. He glanced at her. "Erm...my friend Graihagh is really good in Herbology and everything. Could she help as well?"

Mr. Malfoy gave her an appraising sort of look. "I suppose so," he said finally, though he didn't sound too pleased about it.

Graihagh shot Milo a grin, and he smiled back at her.

Her excitement coursed through her like a stimulant when they came out of the Malfoy's fireplace later that week, into a large, ornate dining room like something out of one of the old murder mysteries she used to watch. She was someone important to be invited here, even if it was to work. She bounced on her feet and grinned as Mr. Malfoy strode forwards to meet them and led them out to the gardens, which seemed to stretch on for miles.

A young man was standing there, and as she got closer she was surprised to see it was Thorfinn. He was standing next to a man in tawny robes and a wide-brimmed hat with bits of white hair sticking out.

Mr. Malfoy walked up to the man. "Linnaeus, your assistants," he said, nodding to them. "This is Mr. Selwyn, Mr. Rowle, and Miss Corlett."

The man extended a hand, which was covered in a dragonhide glove, and she and Milo and Thorfinn shook it in turn.

Linnaeus was a bit like Professor Sprout, if she'd been a crotchety old wizard who hated everyone. He lost no time putting them to work pruning shrubs and hedges, and she'd just started when she saw his shadow behind her.

"Horrid girl," he snapped. "You are assassinating those Flutterby bushes. You cut _above_ the lateral buds-oh, just give me those." He proceeded to yank the secateurs from her hands and demonstrate the proper technique.

"There," he barked. "Now get it right." He gave Graihagh a sharp look and went over to criticize Milo. She was reminded vividly of Snape.

But once she'd gotten used to him, Graihagh lost herself in the work, falling into an easy rhythm of trimming and cutting, piling up the branches with a flick of the wand. She was surprised when the sunlight changed from a bleached-out white to a soft gold and Linnaeus told them it was quitting time.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with her robe and walked back up to the manor with Thorfinn and Milo expecting to head straight for the fireplace and back to Milo's house, but Mr. Malfoy met them at the door.

"Would you care to stay for drinks?" he asked them, sounding gracious and imperious at the same time. Graihagh glanced at Milo; she was sweaty and she was sure there were dirt streaks on her face. But Milo nodded and said, "We would like that very much, thank you."

They followed Malfoy into a room with tall windows and ornate chairs and tables. An elf appeared, this one with large green eyes.

"Drinks for our guests," Mr. Malfoy said to it. The creature came back moments later with three bottles of ice cold pumpkin fizz.

"Thanks," Graihagh said to the creature, who just looked at her with wide eyes and didn't say anything.

"So," said Malfoy, settling back in a chair with a brandy glass, "How are you finding Hogwarts?"

"It's really good," Graihagh said, opening her bottle, making sure to sound enthusiastic, but not too much so.

"Well," Malfoy said, "I suppose that's good to hear." He took a sip of his drink and looked at them closely. "But I imagine it must be a bit frustrating for you at times."

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who looked back at her blankly.

"What do you mean sir?" said Thorfinn.

"Just that there are...certain things the Headmaster doesn't think it worth teaching to talented students such as yourselves."

Graihagh couldn't help but smile a little at this. Thorfinn was leaning forwards, looking interested. "What kinds of things?" he said.

"Oh, all kinds of things," said Mr. Malfoy. "More powerful forms of magic. The true nature of Muggles and Muggle-borns. Things he doesn't trust you enough for you to know."

Graihagh glanced at Milo again, and she could tell he was as intrigued as she was.

Thorfinn spoke up. "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts classes are a complete joke," he said. "We've already had four teachers and they hardly teach us anything."

"I can't say that's too surprising," said Malfoy. "I've always said the standards are far too low at that school. Here." He flicked his wand and after a few moments some books floated through the air and landed neatly on the table in front of them. "I think these might be of interest to you. Keep them as long as you like."

"Thank you sir," said Graihagh looking through the titles. She didn't really know why this man was taking an interest in them, but she was excited at it just the same.

Malfoy turned to Milo, who'd been quiet the whole time. "You're quite the flier," he said. "Do you play for Slytherin?"

Milo brightened. "Yes sir. We won the House cup."

Malfoy raised his glass. "Well done."

Milo went red in the ears, clearly chuffed.

When the three of them had finished their drinks they made their way to the fireplace together.

"Are you two doing anything tonight?" said Thorfinn.

"No," said Milo.

"Mind if I come over?"

Milo smiled, and Graihagh could tell he was trying not too look too pleased about it. "Yeah, alright."

Milo's parents were out for the evening, so the little elf Teensy fixed them dinner, and after they'd eaten they sat down in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. Milo Summoned three bottles of Butterbeer out of the cellar.

"Cheers," said Thorfinn, cracking his bottle open. He raised it. "To the Dark Lord."

Graihagh spat out her Butterbeer and wiped her mouth. "Did you just toast You-Know-Who?"

"No Graihagh, I was toasting your mum." He smiled and patted her thigh. "Calm down, you, it was a joke."

Graihagh relaxed and took another swig of her Butterbeer. She understood what he'd done, and it was funny, in a way, like telling a filthy joke in front of some pearl-clutching old lady. She sank back into the sofa and they sat up late talking, but she woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep. She'd dreamt that she and Cate were walking through the streets of Douglas, listening to the musicians, only they were singing the song about the little red bird. She couldn't stop thinking about it.


	27. Chapter 27

Snape wandered aimlessly through his days at Spinner's End like a man with no real purpose. It was the nights he lived for. He would dream of Lily, of the two of them just sitting by the river talking, or flying off the swings at the playground. He'd stay in bed all morning after he'd had those dreams, trying to relive every detain in his head, every sight, every sound. But sometimes he'd have his old nightmare, or flashes of other memories, more disturbing memories, and he'd have to get out of bed.

He started walking through all old places. The asphalt on the playground where he'd first met her had cracked and was sprouting tall weeds, the swings they'd swung in had been wound around the top pole and someone had spray painted "Clapton is God" on the metal slide, whatever the hell that meant. He hated to see it in this state.

So much time had passed since he'd been there. He could've sworn he heard her, as though her laughter was an echo that never left. He lifted his wand out of his pocket and concealed it in his sleeve, and with a few flicks the cracked asphalt sealed itself together and the swings came down. He didn't worry about anyone seeing him, because there was no one around.

The house she'd lived in wasn't far from there. There was something different about that house, Snape felt it from the first time he'd stepped across the threshold. A sort of peace that came from not worrying that he would say the wrong thing and set someone off, or that a shouting match would break out. He loved to have dinner there, even when Lily's insufferable sister was around. She wasn't allowed to be rude to him, and sometimes he would goad her just to see what would happen.

The yard was full of weeds and patches of dirt now, and he was rather disgusted that the Muggles who lived there now weren't bothering to keep it up. He walked past without another look, preferring to remember it the way it was when Lily lived there.

He made his way to the river, where the willow tree still stood. There was rubbish on the ground around it, plastic shopping bags and paper cups. He cleared them away with his wand.

They would sit under that tree all the time, talking and laughing or just staring up at the branches. Sometimes she'd take his hand or put and arm around him. One beautiful summer day she'd leaned over and kissed him right on the mouth. Wanted to know what it was like, she'd said. Her lips were cool and soft and he remembered it like he'd just been there.

His days were a monotonous blur, just like they were every holiday. A long lie-in, a slow walk around the old places, a simple dinner with some things he'd picked up in Diagon Alley. He didn't mind cooking much, it was a bit like potion-making. Just following the recipes, tweaking a few things here and there. He liked to add extra salt and spices and garlic to everything, as though all those extra flavours could jolt him out of his numbness.

As the summer went on he slept later and later, and sometimes even after he'd woken up he would lie in bed with the curtains drawn until it was time for dinner, if he felt like eating at all. The invitation to Malfoy Manor was both a welcome distraction and an infuriating interruption to his solitude, but he knew he'd feel better after he went, so he washed and put on fresh robes before going outside to Disapparate, stopping to give the stray cats a bit of food. They'd been hanging around all summer, most of them as scrawny and matted as Paracelcus used to be, but one was so well-groomed he thought it must've belonged to someone, and he couldn't understand why it was hanging round his stoop so much.

He wasn't surprised to see the Selwyn boy there with his parents when he walked into the Malfoy's dining room, but he was not at all pleased to see that the Corlett girl was with them. He'd often seen her and the boy together, but he never had the impression that they were especially close. He could think of other reasons, though, why she might want to spend time with a wizarding family during the school holidays.

He positioned himself into his chair as the elf bustled about serving the food, and they made light conversation awhile, nothing particularly interesting. He kept throwing dark glances at the girl and smirked a little as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"I've employed young Mr. Selwyn and Miss Corlett to do some work around the manor this summer," Lucius said, cutting up a lamb chop. "I find them to be quite diligent."

Something about this made him uneasy, though he couldn't really explain why. He shot a glance at the Corlett girl, eyes narrowed. She was looking down at her chops, red in the face, whether because she was hiding something or because his presence simply made her uncomfortable, he didn't know.

"Well, I'm not surprised to hear that young Mr. Selwyn is a diligent worker," he said, with a glance at the boy. "But you'll probably want to check your gardening supplies after Miss Corlett is through with them to make sure nothing's missing."

The girl was tapping her fork idly against her food looking extremely tense, and he felt some satisfaction in this. Lucius glanced from him to the girl, but he made no comment on it.

It was only after the Selwyns had left and Narcissa was putting Draco to bed that he had a chance to speak with Lucius alone. They were sitting in Lucius's study, where the fire had burned low.

"So how are you finding your young employees, really?" said Snape.

"I'm satisfied with their work, so far," said Lucius. "And I feel Mr. Selwyn has a great deal of potential."

Something about this caught Snape's attention. "You seem to have taken rather a liking to him," he said, smiling just a little, betraying no hint of suspicion.

Lucius smiled back. "Actually I have. He reminds me a bit of you."

Snape wasn't entirely surprised by this; he thought the same thing at times, and yet something about it made him uneasy. Lucius had a knack for it, finding those people with the most untapped potential, the diamonds in the rough, and polishing them, shaping them, adding them to his collection, and yet they were more than just objects to him, or at least Snape was. Lucius felt genuine affection for him, and Snape knew it.

And it wasn't as though anyone else was encouraging the Selwyn boy. He was modest, hard-working, quiet, one of those people who drifted along without attracting anyone's attention at all.

"Lucius."

Snape looked up to see Narcissa standing in the doorway. "Draco wants you to read him his bedtime story."

Lucius gave him an embarassed smile. "He likes me to read The Tale of the Three Brothers. Says I make the funniest voices."

Narcissa smiled and when he'd left the room she sat down beside Snape.

"I think I've managed to talk him into sending Draco to Hogwarts when the time comes. So I suppose you'll be his teacher someday."

Sweet Merlin. That was still six years away, and then he'd be teaching the boy another seven years after that.

"I'm sure he'll do well," said Snape, because he didn't know what else to say.

Narcissa smiled, then stared at the fire so long Snape wondered if he should leave.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

Snape knew, somehow, that whatever it was was going to be very personal, and he shifted in his seat, rather dreading whatever it was. "Certainly," he said stiffly.

"Did you see Regulus? Before..."

Snape hadn't been expecting this. He'd never told anyone about their last meeting together. And as much as he didn't want to, it was a relief, in a way, to get it out.

"Yes," he said. "He came to me just before. Told me he'd discovered something about the Dark Lord, and that he was going on some sort of mission. But he didn't say what it was."

Narcissa stared into the fire again. "We grew up together, you know. I used to see him just about every week." She looked down and twisted her hands in her lap. "I miss him."

Snape did too. But he didn't say it.

"How is Nymphadora doing?" said Narcissa after awhile.

Snape looked at her, startled, and it was a few seconds before he realized that the troublesome Tonks girl was Narcissa's niece.

"She's a diligent student, and rather talented," he said, leaving out the detention he'd had to give her just before the end of term when she'd impersonated McGonagall and threatened to cane everyone in the corridor.

"Is she?" said Narcissa. She seemed genuinely surprised by this, and Snape thought he understood why, what with her Muggle-born father. Had he not known Lily so well it might've surprised him too.

Narcissa was quiet for so long Snape put his hands to the side of the chair and stood up.

"I suppose I should get going," he said.

Narcissa stood up with him. "I'll see you to the door."

They walked in silence until they'd reached the front doors, and Narcissa faced him. "Do you ever regret it?" she said.

Snape looked at her a long moment. There were things he regretted bitterly, most of all passing on the fucking prophecy. But he didn't see how things could've been different, how he could've been different from what he was.

"I don't know."

Narcissa didn't say anything to this, and after they'd bid each other goodnight he Disapparated and returned to Spinner's End, but he had trouble sleeping. After lying in bed for what felt like hours, he got up and rummaged around in the drawers for something to eat.

Lily had loved Mars Bars. Snape hardly ever got any sweets, so sometimes she'd bring something for them to share, and Mars Bars had been her favourite. Any time she had a bit of pocket change she'd ride her bicycle to the nearest grocer's and buy some and they'd go sit by the river or sprawl out in her back garden and he would savour the chocolate and caramel and that safe, happy feeling he had whenever she was with him. The sensations had become entwined in his memory, so that a single taste brought him back, and he always kept some in the house at Spinner's End. He'd used a Doubling Charm on them whenever he needed more, but there weren't any left and he supposed he'd eaten the last one. Which was just as well, the duplicates were never as good.

He'd had the electricity and water and gas cut off after his mother died, as he had no use for them, and usually got whatever he needed from the shops in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so it was rare that he had any dealings with the Muggle world, and the thought of going out there was a bit nerve-racking. As soon as he got up the next morning he dressed in his Muggle clothes, but he felt strangely exposed without his robes, and kept checking his shirt and trousers to make sure there were no buttons missing. His hair had grown past his shoulders, so he trimmed it quickly using a Severing Charm, leaving it past his ears, because he rather liked it that way.

He walked past rows of deserted houses until he saw signs of life here and there, traffic on the road or voices talking. Doors slammed and a woman shouted and scowling young men passed by with their hands in their pockets as a man in tattered jacket pushed a shopping trolley full of black bin bags. It wasn't until he was right in front of the place where the building used to be that he realized it had closed down. The dark windows stared out at him like lifeless eyes and the sight of it troubled him for some reason.

He kept following the street and after awhile the traffic became heavy and there were clusters of shops. He scanned both sides of the road until he saw a car park where a few people were pushing trolleys and saw a sprawling and rather hideous looking building, like something out of one of those low-budget futuristic space films he and Lily used to watch at the cinema. The sign above the doors said Tesco.

The doors were strange looking, glass, and it wasn't until he reached out his hand that he realized there was no handle. He reached for the edge to see if it slid open, but no matter how hard he pulled it wouldn't come loose. He was seriously annoyed.

He was just reaching into his pocket for his wand when the door opened and a trolley almost smashed into him. "This is the exit, you know," a middle-aged man chided him, looking at him a bit strangely. Snape hurried away to the other door, which opened of its own accord, trying to look completely cool and intimidating. Since he was here, he supposed he ought to stock up on a few things, so he took a basket.

When he'd stocked up on Mars Bars he headed to get some eggs, but there were already two older ladies standing there at the shelf. He feigned interest in some horrid looking bottles of something called a protein shake and waited for them to leave, but to his annoyance they just stood there and started chatting, as though a grocery store aisle was a perfectly acceptable spot to socialize. It went on so long he thought he reached in and tried to grab them anyway, but he ended up brushing up against one of them.

The woman looked scandilised. "You could say excuse me," she scolded.

Snape felt some satisfaction in knowing that he had the power to make her toenails grow so quickly she'd have to walk around the store barefoot.

"And you could bend down and kiss my arse," he muttered as he walked away, eyeing all those people around him.

It had been years since he'd had to use Muggle money and he had to examine it carefully as he pulled it out of a battered leather wallet, to the point where the teenaged clerk started sighing and drumming his fingers on counter. Snape scowled as he thrust the bills at him. By Merlin, he hated people.

It was when he was walking through the car park that he saw a car with black windows and no hubcaps nearly collide with elderly man in a tweed suit. He heard the blare of a horn before the car swerved around him and sped off, tyres squealing. His pulse quickened; all of this reminded him of why he avoided this world in the first place. This is what Dumbledore had fought for, what Lily had fought for. It didn't make any sense.

He heard a voice call out and turned to see that the man had stumbled trying to get out of the way and was sprawled on the ground, his walking cane beside him. Snape glanced around to see if there was anyone else around to deal with the situation, but there wasn't. He supposed he couldn't really ignore him now.

He made his way over to the man and knelt down, extending a hand. He pulled the man up and gave him his walking stick.

"Thank you," said the man, taking the cane in one hand and brushing his suit off with the other. "Would you believe these young people? Bloody pillocks. No sense at all."

"Indeed," said Snape, agreeing wholeheartedly. The man looked up and gave him a look of approval.

"Now you seem like a fine young lad. Got more sense than the rest of them put together." He stuck out a hand and Snape shook it. "Thank you," he said.

As Snape made his way back to Spinner's end he unwrapped one of the Mars Bars and started to eat it, savouring every bite and thinking of Lily, and Regulus, and what it all meant.

* * *

Graihagh's days fell into an easy rhythm as the summer went on. She and Milo would eat a quick breakfast, then she'd check on her potions before they took the Floo network to Malfoy Manor where she spent the day with her face full of leaves and branches and dirt. She'd nearly gotten strangled when she wandered into a patch of Devil's Snare that Mr. Malfoy was growing in his garden for some weird reason, but Linnaeus had conjured up a fire with his wand just in time, and there wasn't any major harm done.

When they'd finished the day's work the elf would appear with a tray of cold drinks and they'd sprawl out in the garden awhile, listening to the wind and watching the golden snidgets that hovered in front of the enormous flowers that grew everywhere. The Malfoy's little boy loved to zip around on his toy broom and sometimes Milo and Thorfinn would help position him or toss balls for him to dodge. Mrs. Malfoy would sit in a chair and watch, floaty white robes flowing all around her, looking like someone out of an old painting.

"How old is your little boy then?" Graihagh asked her one afternoon after she'd finished work for week and they were sitting out in the garden. Mrs. Malfoy was holding a goblet of wine, looking relaxed and happy and so gorgeous it wasn't even fair. She'd been chatting with Mr. Malfoy but he'd gotten up walk around the garden with Milo and Thorfinn, and now she was watching Draco as he flew through the mermaid-shaped fountain and shrieked with glee when the water hit his face.

"He turned five in June," she said, still watching Draco.

"He's a remarkable boy," said Graihagh. This wasn't really true, he seemed fairly ordinary to her, but she knew how much this would flatter her. "I bet he'll be a great flier someday."

For the first time, Mrs. Malfoy turned to look at her. "Thank you. I'm sure he will."

She seemed to have warmed up a bit, and Graihagh took advantage of the opportunity. "Your robes are beautiful," she said. "Where did you get them?"

"Twilfitt and Tattings."

Graihagh had never been, and she made a mental note to drop a fat stack of galleons there before going back to Hogwarts. Mrs. Malfoy turned around to watch Draco, and Graihagh fidgeted in her chair, no clue what to say to this woman whose life was so different from hers, and who didn't seem all that keen to talk to her.

She watched enormous butterfly as it landed on one of the flowers and started to drink, until a piercing shriek hit her ears and her head jerked towards the sound. Draco was lying on the ground beside his broom, his lip bleeding.

Narcissa rushed to his side and tilted his head up with her hand to look him over.

"I can help, if you'd like," said Graihagh. She reached into her robes and pulled out her potions kit. "I've got a wound cleansing solution and some dittany in here."

Narcissa gave her a wary look, but maybe Draco's wailing changed her mind, because she nodded and let Graihagh kneel in front of him.

She cleaned out his lip and put a few drops of dittany on it, watching, almost hypnotized, as the cut slowly mended itself. She wondered if there were spells, powerful ones, that could mend even deeper cuts than these.

"There," she said. "You're all right now."

Draco didn't say anything, just looked at her, but he seemed to have brightened a bit. He sat in the grass and began to wave a stick through the air.

When she'd put her potions kit away Mr. Malfoy strode into the garden with Thorfinn and Milo.

"Would you care to stay for drinks?" he said, as he so often did.

They followed him into the manor and sat down in the sitting room where the windows had been thrown open to let in the breeze.

"So," he said to them, taking a glass from the elf, who he had summoned to the room. He'd brought Pumpkin Fizz for her and Thorfinn and Milo. "Have you had the chance to look at any of your books?"

Graihagh had never been bookish and she wasn't really a fast reader, but she had a lot of free time in the evenings, and she'd plodded through a few, a rather boring book about persecution against the wizarding community through the ages, and another, more interesting book on obscure curses. Milo and Thorfinn, she noticed, had been reading them too.

"They're really fascinating," said Milo. "I never realized how brutal the persecutions against us really were."

Thorfinn let out an indignant noise from beside her. "That's because they don't teach that sort of thing," he said.

"Indeed, the Headmaster does not think it worthwhile, apparently," said Malfoy, and Graihagh could hear the disdain in his voice. "But I hope it helps you appreciate precisely what is at stake," he added, looking at them closely.

Milo didn't say anything to this, and neither did Graihagh, because she wasn't entirely sure what he was on about.

"But enough about that," he said. "Have any of you been to any matches this summer?"

"My dad might get us tickets to see the Wasps," said Milo. This was news to Graihagh, and she couldn't keep an excited smile off her face.

"Excellent," said Malfoy. "Second in the league this year I believe? Although I hear Bagman's retiring at the end of the season."

"Yeah," said Milo, and Graihagh couldn't believe how much he was talking. "Too many bludgers to the head, I suppose."

Malfoy smiled a bit. "Likely. I've met him a few times, he can't find his arse with two hands anymore. He was a great Beater though."

Milo smiled back at him. "Yeah, he was."

He took a long drink of pumpkin fizz and sank back into his chair, looking happier and more relaxed than she'd seen him in a long time, and Graihagh was glad to be there, glad to know these people. They sat and talked until the light slanting in through the windows glowed orange, and Graihagh and Milo set down their bottles and stood up.

"Thank you for the drinks, sir," said Milo.

"Not at all," said Lucius. "You're welcome to visit here any time."

Graihagh and Milo made their way over to the fireplace and said goodbye to Thorfinn as he dusted himself with Floo Powder and vanished. Graihagh supposed they'd just go back to Milo's house and lounge around and play wizard chess or talk while Milo worked on his figurines, and she didn't mind so much. She always got tired by Friday.

Milo stood there with his hand in the jar of Floo Powder. "Do you want to go to Diagon Alley and get something to eat?"

Graihagh supposed his parents were out again. "Yeah, alright," she said, excited at the thought of being out at night in the wider wizarding world, something she'd never done.

One at a time they dusted themselves with Floo powder and when Graihagh stopped spinning she was standing in a fireplace in one of the back rooms of the Leaky Cauldron. Milo led them to a small chip shop across from Gringott's, where they ate at one of the tables outside, watching the people walk past, some clutching shopping bags or holding the hands of small children, others dressed in their best robes, on their way to the pubs. Graihagh remembered her first meeting with Snape all those years ago and stabbed at her haddock so hard the table shook. She was still furious with him for insulting her in front of the Malfoys.

By the time they were finished eating, the sky was dark blue and the gas streetlamps had come on. Milo walked slowly, stopping to look into the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Graihagh had the feeling he didn't want to leave.

"Should we do something else?" said Graihagh, though she didn't really know what. The shops were all closing and they were still too young to drink at the pubs.

Milo stared at the window a moment, thinking. "I have an idea," he said.

He beckoned her to follow him, and led them into a narrow passage between two buildings that led into another street, this one much darker than Diagon Alley.

Graihagh read the sign above them. "Isn't this place supposed to be dodgy?"

"Not really," said Milo, who seemed to find the place completely unremarkable, as though he'd been there before. "Lots of people shop here. It just has a bad reputation."

Graihagh followed them down Knockturn Alley, which felt more like a high, twisting hallway in an old manor house than a city street. Some of the windows were dark or covered in thick curtains, but there were windows full of animal skulls and one covered in brightly-coloured posters of wizarding musicians and another displaying what looked like an old Muggle Kewpie doll with innocent staring eyes that looked so out of place she almost laughed. A woman in a black corset watched them out of a doorway, looking curious. Wondering what two teenagers were doing round Knockturn Alley at night, most likely. Milo looked at her as they passed.

He led them into a narrow space between two buildings, until they reached the end, where there was a brick wall. Milo tapped out a simple pattern with his wand and a door appeared. He went inside, wand lit, but Graihagh hung back, clinging to the doorframe.

"Where does it go?" she said.

"You'll see," said Milo, but Graihagh didn't move.

"It's not dangerous. I was down here once."

Graihagh let go and followed them inside, down a steep stone staircase, and with a sensation like an invisible hook she was thrown through a long dark tunnel.

They collapsed onto a stone floor, and when the stagnant, musty air hit her nose she knew they were going someplace very old. There was something alive down here, she thought, or maybe it was just the air itself breathing.

The blue-white light of their wands barely touched the darkness. Milo muttered a spell under his breath and the torches lining the walls were lit, and Graihagh saw that they were in a small stone room with a barrel vaulted ceiling and stone benches lining the walls. She thought she saw flashes of colour, paintings maybe, but they were so faded and the light so dim she couldn't tell what they were.

"Where are we?" she whispered. She didn't want to disturb the silence.

"Londinium," said Milo.

"What?"

"Roman London. This used to be a temple, and then in the Middle Ages witches and wizards would go underground and practice magic here."

Somehow Graihagh had known all along there was powerful magic here. She could feel it.

Milo walked back towards the entrance and Graihagh thought he was leaving, but he beckoned her over, to a dark tunnel opposite the old temple.

"There's a whole network of tunnels under here," he said. "Sometimes you'll meet Roman soldiers and such."

"What, like a centaurius or something?"

"Centurion," corrected Milo.

Graihagh stared into the tunnel and swore she saw something in there, some strange light, and voices, rough voices, and there were more than the ghosts of friendly centurions down there, she was sure of it.

"Maybe we should just stay in here," she said. Milo shrugged, as if to say he didn't care much either way, and they walked back into the temple and looked around it some more.

"I think I found something," said Milo after awhile. He was standing over some sort of altar, something bronze in his hand. He held it up to show her. "It's a key. Looks like it's hundreds of years old."

Graihagh looked over his shoulder. "Looks like there's something written on it."

Milo squinted and held it up to his face. "I can't make it out. The light's too dim." He looked at it a long time. "I think I'll keep it though."

A thrill of nerves shot through Graihagh. "Are you sure you should do that?"

Milo smiled a little. "What, you think a ghost is going to swoop down and start attacking me or something?"

That was exactly what Graihagh had been thinking, and she flinched as Milo put it in his pocket, but nothing came out at them, nothing happened at all really, but she could've sworn something changed in the air around them, something she couldn't explain, like the way the air got still before a storm came.

"Maybe we should go."

Milo looked at her closely, and something of her fear must've shown on her face.

"Yeah, alright," he said.

They must've been down in the temple a long time, because Knockturn Alley was deserted, and Diagon Alley empty except for a few pub-goers. They walked in silence until they reached the back room of the Leaky Cauldron.

Graihagh followed Milo into the fireplace and when she stopped spinning she stumbled into his sitting room.

There were fast, excited voices coming from the front hall. His parents, back from wherever they'd been. One look at them told Graihagh they weren't in their right minds. She didn't know where they'd been or what they'd been doing, but she knew something was wrong.

Milo stared at them a moment. Then he pushed past them and rushed outside, slamming the door behind him.

Graihagh had seen him like this before, she knew how he got, and she was so afraid to follow him she almost couldn't move. But she was more afraid of being in there alone with his parents, and more than anything, she couldn't stand the thought of him being outside all by himself, to have to go through it alone. She took a breath and followed him outside the door.

Milo slumped down in the grass with his knees drawn up to his chest. Graihagh sat down beside him and touched his shoulder.

Milo jerked his arm away. "Get out of here," he snapped.

Graihagh had always kept her distance before, knowing how much he hated any kind of pity, but this time she didn't move. She couldn't leave him to sit there all alone, like he'd probably done his whole life.

Milo glared at her. "I told you to leave!"

"No," she said quietly. She put her arms around him, the way Cate had done for her, and just like her, Milo stiffened and pulled away, but she held him tighter, until his tense muscles slackened and he put his head on her shoulder. Graihagh stroked his hair.

They stayed there a long time, as the stars moved across the sky, and when she got back to the house it was a long time before she fell asleep. Her dreams were full of dark tunnels that stretched on and on without leading anywhere.


	28. Chapter 28

Snape glanced at his watch as he finished up his lesson plans, fervently hoping he was running late for the social hour Dumbledore always hosted before the Start of Term Feast, when he'd have to chat with the rest of the staff. Quarter to the hour. It looked like he'd get away with missing it this year.

There was a knock at the door. Filch, most likely.

"Enter," said Snape, and to his intense dismay Dumbledore stood there, in sweeping robes of purple.

"Ah, Severus, I thought I'd find you here. You've been working entirely too hard, come join us for drinks."

"I'm rather busy at the moment, Headmaster," muttered Snape.

"All the more reason to come, my dear man. There are a few new staff members I'd like you to meet."

And before Snape knew what was happening he was being swept out of his office by Dumbledore and herded to the small room off the staff table.

"Severus, this is Quirinius Quirell," said Dumbledore, as they stood and faced a man Snape vaguely remembered from his school days. He felt a certain satisfaction as introduced himself, that he was no longer the young newcomer on the staff.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Quirell," he said, with absolutely no enthusiasm whatsoever.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," the man replied. He had a soft voice and a nervous manner and kept glancing about the room.

"I understand you'll be teaching Muggle Studies?"

"Yes, that's right," Quirell replied. Snape smirked. The man was an obvious lightweight.

Dumbledore turned to face another new staff member, a woman.

"Allow me to introduce our new Astronomy teacher, Professor Aurora Sinistra," he said.

This was another name he recognized from his school days; they must have been close in age. He shook her hand. She was an attractive woman, tall and and dark-skinned with keen eyes, and she had a dignified look about her. Much more satisfactory.

"I can't tell you how pleased I am to be joining the staff," she told him, and he knew she meant it.

For once he thought of something fitting to say. "Well, we are pleased to have you joining us," he said to her, and he thought he might've been sincere. She gave him a gracious smile.

Another member of the staff came over to greet her, and then he was left to face the man he'd most been dreading to meet, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Snape had been passed over for the position yet again.

"Elijah Chumley," the man said, beaming and holding out his hand, which Snape shook and let go of very quickly because it was sweaty. He was a short, balding man with a red, boyish face and twinkling blue eyes, like someone out a poorly illustrated children's book. He looked much too genial to be teaching Defense.

"Such an honour to be asked to teach. I was recently retired from the Ministry, you know. Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Snape found this hard to believe.

"Really?" he asked, his tone inflected to suggest his skepticism. "Were you an Auror?"

Chumley chuckled. "Goodness no! Court clerk."

Snape was finding it hard to keep his irritation in. "Impressive," he said, his tone completely ironic. Chumley didn't seem to have noticed and just beamed back at him stupidly.

Snape excused himself and went to join the other Heads of House and they made small talk for awhile, the kind he found rather dull and wasn't any good at. But as they began to make their way to the table, Professor McGonagall stayed behind. She'd been rather quiet the whole time.

"I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am by the high pass rate of your O.W.L students Severus," she told him.

Snape hadn't been expecting this. "I thank you very much, Professor," he said. He could have sworn the corners of her mouth turned up slightly and he held himself rather tall as he made his way to the staff table to watch the Sorting.

Once back in the dungeons he went straight to his room and sat in front of the fire awhile, resting his arms on either side of the chair. He summoned a bottle of mead from his cabinet and poured himself a glass, sinking lower into his chair.

He made no attempt to be someone he wasn't, or to hide his contempt for troublemakers and idiots, and yet he found all the socializing at the Welcoming Feast exhausting, and it wasn't until he was alone in his room that he could relax. He'd begun to like the evenings alone in his room, where he could sink back in his chair with his bare feet out and eat Mars Bars and crisps. Sometimes he'd pour himself a glass of wine or mead and tune into the Wizard Wireless Network, which he and his mother used to listen to in secret when his father wasn't around. Some of the programs were rather dull, and he couldn't take one second of Celestina Warbeck's insufferable crooning. But sometimes he enjoyed the more serious music, the sombre, beautiful music. He'd listen to it and stare into the fire.

Back in his Death Eater days there'd been an underground wireless station he and his friends would tune into sometimes that supported the Dark Lord's aims. They'd played music from time to time, bands with names like Crucio that screamed out graphic songs about war, songs that seemed to fuel them in the same way Firewhisky did. The station was shut down not long after the Dark Lord's fall, and he was glad of it. He'd be embarassed to hear any of it again.

That night the wireless was playing music, slow and melancholy songs, and he sank back in his chair and listened and sipped his mead and ran over the new speech he had planned for his first years, until he began to hear it in tune with the music.

_...the beauty of a softly __simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, __bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses_

His eyelids closed.

_I can teach you how to brew fame, bottle glory, even stopper death._

His head drooped forward and he fell asleep.

Just as Snape had hoped, his speech held the first-years spell-bound, and they were mostly silent that day, as were most of his students, and he retired to his office at the end of the day thinking it hadn't gone too badly.

Not long after he sat down there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he said.

He looked up expecting to see Filch or McGonagall or Sprout and instead saw a rather nervous-looking fifth-year. His stomach clenched.

"What is it, Miss Travers?" he said, praying she wasn't coming to him with a personal problem.

"I was just wondering if I could talk to you, sir."

Snape just stared at her. Surely she had friends for this sort of thing.

Miss Travers sat down in the chair opposite him. "It's just...well, my mum expects me to go into the Ministry like my older brother, but I don't know if I can get all the O.W.L.s I'd need and I don't know what to do about it."

Snape summoned her file out of his cabinet and flipped through it. She was a middling student, from what he saw, with one exception.

"Your Herbology marks are high," he said. "Have you considered pursuing a career in Herbology?"

The girl made a face. "What, you mean work at a greenhouse or something?"

"Or perhaps teach," said Snape, irritated that she considered such work beneath her.

"Maybe," she said, not really meeting his eye.

"I think it would be foolish on your part, and on your parent's part, to ignore such obvious talent."

The girl looked at him but didn't say anything, and he could tell it wasn't what she'd been looking for a different answer, an easier one, some way of living up to the high expectations placed upon her, expectations that had nothing to do with any kind of manual work.

Snape shifted in his chair, expecting her to get up and leave. But she stayed where she was, playing with the folds of her robes.

"Is there anything else?" said Snape, trying his best not to grimace. He didn't get paid enough for this sort of thing.

"Well, it's just...did you know my father, sir?"

Snape sat up straighter and stared at her, completely unnerved. "And why would you think I knew him?"

"Someone mentioned once that you were friends."

Snape looked at her closely. Her eyes didn't seem to be hiding anything, suggesting anything, and it was entirely possible she didn't know. He relaxed a little. "We were acquaintances, I suppose."

The girl glanced away from him a moment. "My mum always told me I should be proud of him. And Thorfinn-we're dating, you know-he thinks he's some sort of hero or something."

"And what do you think?" said Snape, sensing the girl's hesitation.

"I don't know. I suppose they're right." She glanced up at him. "But you must think he was?"

"Well," said Snape slowly, careful of his words, because there was no guarantee they wouldn't get back to Travers, even if he was locked away in Azkaban. "I don't know. They were brave, certainly, but many believe they carried things too far."

Miss Traver's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying he deserved what he got, sir?"

Snape drew his fingertips across his face, as though the movement could help him collect his thoughts. "That isn't for me to decide. What's done is done, and all I can say is that I am sorry about your family's predicament."

The girl didn't say anything to this, just sat there looking affronted, and he had the distinct impression her father's imprisonment was a rather touchy subject for her.

"Is that all?" said Snape, quite keen for her to leave.

The girl nodded slightly and stood up. When she'd left Snape turned back to his work, but he couldn't really focus on it any longer, so after pacing around his office a bit he went to the Great Hall for dinner. He was still agitated when he returned to his room after, and it was a long time before he fell asleep.

The first week passed by quietly, but he had a new task this term, and he didn't waste any time getting started on it. As soon as Friday came he scratched out a note to one of the second-year Slytherins informing Miss Corlett that she'd be cleaning out his store cupboards for her detention, something he hadn't done in a few years. He hoped there was another Boggart inside of it. She could face it herself, this time.

The girl walked into his office right on the hour, and he watched her as she opened the cupboard door and began pulling out jars. She was nearly as tall as he was now, which didn't improve his mood any.

"What were you doing over the summer?" he said softly, getting straight to the point. She stiffened.

"Just visiting a friend," she said.

He supposed she was trying to sound casual but it was completely unconvincing. He came up right beside her, looking straight at her. Her eyes flickered towards him.

"You may think you've gotten away with something," he said, in his quietest and, he hoped, most threatening voice, "but if you bring so much as one illicit potion into this school I will make sure you are expelled." He stared at her a moment to make sure this sank in, then returned to his desk, smiling a little when a large spider scuttled out of the cupboard and she shrieked.

He kept her working until the cupboard was spotless, making a point of sitting back in his chair with a book once he'd finished examining a rather pitiful-looking batch of potions from his third-years. When he'd dismissed her he made his way upstairs, to Filch's office.

"Good evening, Professor," Filch greeted him when he'd answered the door. He gestured him inside.

The office was the same as always, cramped and windowless and full of filing cabinets. There were other things around his office too, potted plants and wooden figures of animals and birds that Filch seemed to have whittled himself. Snape's mouth twitched when he saw the manacles and polishing rag on his desk. A man after his own heart, Filch was.

"I have a request to make of you," said Snape. "I would like you to remain alert to any unusual activity-students wandering the corridors after hours, any suspicious behavior, any unusual fumes."

If Filch thought the request strange, he didn't show it, and Snape rather thought he was eager for the oppoturnity.

"Certainly, Professor," he said earnestly. He paused a moment. "I was wondering, Professor... see, I have all these records that are getting old and worn. I could use a bit of help copying them down." He gestured to his filing cabinets.

Snape smiled a little. He knew the perfect person for the job. "Leave it to me," he said.

He returned to his office feeling rather satisfied. The castle was already under heightened security due to an incident involving some troublesome students and a room full of cursed ice, but having Filch on the prowl could only help.

Deciding what to do about the Selwyn boy was much more difficult. He was quiet in class, serious, intent on his work, the way he'd always been. One day Snape sent him a note, asking to see him in his office.

The boy was looking at him with a question in his eyes as he sat down. He drummed his fingers on his legs and sat on the edge of his seat.

"I have been pleased with your efforts in my class," Snape told him. The boy got red around the ears, looking chuffed and self-conscious all at once.

"I was merely wondering how things have been going for you."

"Just fine sir," the boy said, in an earnest sort of voice.

Snape sat back in his chair and traced his mouth with a finger. "You haven't had to endure any attacks by other students?" he asked.

"No sir," the boy said.

Snape had suspected this, and he was pleased by it. "I see you are taking art as an elective," he said. "And that your marks are high. You must have an aptitude for it."

The boy seemed to relax just slightly. "Yeah, well, I hope so, sir," he said.

He was a laconic young man, never saying more than he had to. Snape looked into his eyes. _Legilimens_.

The images flashed by, the boy flying on a broom, holding a paintbrush, pruning a shrub. The smiling face of Lucius as they walked around his garden, talking. His mother, making some biting remark. The Corlett girl sitting beside him, stroking his hair. He drew himself out of his mind and paused a moment.

"I was wondering if there is anything you wish to tell me?" he said. "Anything at all?"

The boy looked at him, mouth slightly open, whether on the verge of saying something he didn't know. "No sir," he said finally.

"Very well," said Snape. "You may go."

As the boy left he realized just how difficult it was going to be to get anything out of him, or the girl. He would have to gain their trust somehow, and how he was to do it, he had no idea.

* * *

The other fifth-year girls were all lounging around the girl's dormitory when Graihagh got back from her detention Friday night. Livia was on the bed next to hers, lying on her stomach and reading _Witch Weekly_. There was a good-looking young man on the cover with wavy blonde hair and a toothy grin. He winked at her.

"How was your detention?" said Livia, not looking up from her magazine.

"It was good," said Graihagh. "Professor Snape said he had a great time with you last night."

Livia smirked and went back to her magazine.

"Guess what," said one of her friends, a girl named Hyacinth. "I got Hermes Swift to sign my Tornadoes poster." She held it up for them to see.

"Did you show him your knickers again Hyacinth?" said Livia, looking up at her.

"Oh shut up, it was really windy that day."

"And you were wearing knee-length robes," Livia shot back, smiling a little.

She sat up and turned on the wireless and the sound of lutes and rather scratchy vocals filled the room.

"Is this the Hobgoblins?" said Graihagh as she sat on her bed and scratched Scooter on the chin. She'd listened to the wireless over the summer, trying to learn more about wizarding culture, and thought she recognized the band.

"Yeah, I saw them over the summer," said Livia. "They were awful, we threw turnips at them."

"Stubby Boardman's not bad-looking though," said Hyacinth. Graihagh smiled and pretended she knew what they were talking about.

"True," said Livia. She looked over at Graihagh. "Maybe we could go to a show together sometime." She gave her a small smile, but only with her mouth; her eyes were sharp, appraising. "How was your summer?"

"I spent most of it working for the Malfoys, actually," said Graihagh. She'd been bursting to tell her this.

Livia had turned over to her side, head propped up on one hand, and she raised her eyebrows, looking interested. "Really? How was it?"

"Really good. I got to have dinner with them sometimes. They're nice." She couldn't believe she was just lying there telling them this, as though she routinely hung round with powerful wizarding families.

"Lucius is really fit, isn't he?" said Livia, looking her in the eye.

Graihagh had the same thought, and she knew her face was getting red because she could feel the heat in it. "A bit," she said. "So how was your summer?"

"It was alright," she replied, tossing her magazine on her nightstand and pulling a gown out of her dresser. "We went on a beach holiday in Mauritius and took in a few Quidditch matches."

Graihagh didn't have the faintest idea where Mauritius was, but she smiled a bit as she pulled on her own nightgown and crawled into bed, because this was the longest conversation she'd ever had with Livia and her friends. She thought back to her first year, when they wouldn't even look at her, and couldn't help the thrill that went through her, the thrill of acceptance, of being someone.

She had a long lie-in the next morning, and when she bathed and came into the common room Thorfinn gestured for her to sit next to him and Milo. Milo was sitting staring straight ahead, not looking at her. Graihagh had done her best to pretend she didn't feel sorry for him, but they both knew she did, and things had been awkward between them ever since.

They had a mountain of homework, like all the fifth-years, so they sat in silence awhile, bent over their parchment. Graihagh was only partway through her Charms essay when she started doodling all over the margins and daydreaming. She sketched out a picture of a key, and it reminded her of something.

"Did you ever find out what's written on that key?" she asked Milo.

Milo pulled the key out of his pocket and examined it closely, and Graihagh could tell how fascinating he found it. "Yeah," he said. "There's an inscription on it, but it's in runes. I'll have to work it out."

"Good thing one of us is taking Ancient Runes," said Graihagh, trying to coax a smile out of him, but his expression didn't change. He put the key back in his pocket and stared at the fire awhile.

"I suppose we'll have to think about what we want to do this year," he said after awhile.

Graihagh looked up from her parchment. "I thought you knew what you wanted to do. Don't you want to make enchanted figurines and that sort of thing?"

Milo shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe that was stupid." He stared into the fire again. "I want to do something bigger. Something people will notice."

Graihagh didn't say anything to this, because she understood exactly how he felt.

Milo went back to his essay, but Graihagh couldn't really focus on hers anymore, so she rolled up her parchment and took out the copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ she'd bought at Flourish and Blotts on a whim. She didn't know yet if she'd make it into N.E.W.T Potions, but she was sure as hell going to try, and the potions looked fascinating.

"Oi," she said after awhile. Thorfinn and Milo looked up.

"There's a potion in here that makes you lucky."

"Are you serious?" said Thorfinn. He wasn't the type to show excitement over anything, but Graihagh could sense it underneath that cocksure expression he wore like a mask.

"Yeah. Felix Felicis, it's called." She scanned the recipe. "Don't know how I'd ever make it though. It's harder than Polyjuice and that was a right pain in the arse. Not to mention the fact that if I get caught I'll get chucked out of school."

She glanced at Milo, thinking he'd be as intrigued by it as she was, but there was a dark look on his face she didn't understand. She knew better than to ask, though, and went back to her book, reading until until it was time for lunch.

Cate nearly knocked her over when she met up with her in the Entrance Hall after. They'd written to each other over the summer, but they'd both been so busy since they got back that they'd barely said a word to each other.

"You all right Graihagh? Let's go sit on the stairs and catch up," she said. They made their way to the basement steps and sat down.

"How was your holiday?" said Graihagh.

Cate's smile faltered. "Do you want the technicolour version or the gritty black-and-white one?"

"Whichever one is true."

"Well, the truth is that it was sort of shitty."

Graihagh looked at her, waiting for her to go on about it, but she didn't, which wasn't like her.

"Were they rowing again? Your parents?"

"Yeah."

A surge of guilt crashed over Graihagh. "I'm sorry," she said. "You wouldn't have had to see that if you'd gone to Mann with me."

"It's not your fault," said Cate. But Graihagh didn't believe it.

She hadn't realized just how much she'd missed Cate until she was sitting next to her. She wanted to tell her everything, about her summer, about Lucius and Milo and everything she'd seen and everything she'd done. But she didn't know how.

"My holiday wasn't so great either," she told her. Her voice came out flat and she felt Cate watching her.

"What's wrong, Graihagh?"

She didn't know how to answer. Everything she'd been working so hard all to stifle was surfacing. She screwed up her face but couldn't stop what was coming. Cate put a hand to her shoulder.

"I missed you so much," said Graihagh.

"I missed you too."

Graihagh's head was so full of things she didn't understand it was spinning. But Cate was her centre of gravity, and nothing else mattered just then.


	29. Chapter 29

Every once in awhile there'd be long stretches of quiet, when Snape drifted through his days without any major incidents, and it was rather like watching children play with glass ornaments, knowing they would slip out of their hands and shatter at any moment. And sure enough, not three months into the new term he walked through a first-floor corridor and came across...himself, threatening to hang everyone in the vicinity upside down and pull out their fingernails. He was not amused.

Someone gasped and his doppelgänger whipped around with a startled look he hoped would never appear on his own face.

"Hello," he said, letting the moment drag on awhile so he could enjoy the effect. Blushing, the girl screwed up her eyes and took on her usual appearance, with that ghastly pink hair.

"Well," said Snape, "since you seem to enjoy doling out punishments, perhaps you would like to put yourself in detention, Miss Tonks. Eight o'clock tomorrow night. My office."

He stared at her a moment longer, but he couldn't help feeling intensely self-conscious as he walked away. He'd never liked mirrors much, and wasn't really aware of how he looked, how thin and pale and young he was. He brooded over it as he poured himself a cup of tea in the staff room and he was just taking a sip when Hagrid's voice rang out from behind him.

"Mornin', Professor Snape."

"Good morning," said Snape, his voice cool and detached. He wanted nothing to do the bumbling fool.

If Hagrid was put off by his lack of enthusiasm, he didn't show it. "There's summat I've been meanin ter ask yeh," he said. "I'm throwin a surprise party for Professor Kettleburn this Friday -assumin he's out of the hospital wing, he got a nasty bite off a Chimaera-"

Snape spat out his tea.

"Anyway," said Hagrid, wiping tea off his arm, "I was wonderin if you'd like ter join us."

Snape disliked both surprises and parties and the all he knew about Kettleburn is that he shared Hagrid's bizarre beast fixation. "I'm rather busy at the moment," he said in what he hoped was a final sort of voice.

Hagrid looked genuinely disappointed, and Snape could not imagine why. "Well, party starts at seven if yeh change yer mind," he said.

And so on Friday night Snape made a point of heading back to his room immediately after dinner.

He was just passing through the Entrance Hall when he came across Dumbledore, in flowing robes of some iridescent turquoise material that made him look like one of Lucius's peacocks. "Ah, Severus, headed to the party, I suppose? Come, let us walk there together."

Dumbledore must've known perfectly well he was not headed to the party and Snape suspected he was rather enjoying the whole thing. He walked alongside the old man in an angry silence, wondering why he just wouldn't leave him alone, let him have his solitude. McGonagall's party hadn't been so bad, it was true, but he was in no mood for another one just then.

With the exception of his dinners with Lucius and Narcissa he'd always made a point of being a good ten or twenty minutes late to any social gathering, to avoid the awkwardness of being left to make conversation with the host, but Dumbledore was punctual to a fault, and to Snape's dismay they were the first guests to arrive at Hagrid's hut. The place was rather primitive, but a there were a few salamanders warming themselves over the blazing fire and some interesting plants growing in pots along the shelves. He was just bending down to examine one when he something unpleasant and furry leapt onto his back and licked his face. He reached for his wand.

"Down, Fang!" boomed Hagrid.

The massive dog went over to a basket full of soft blankets and curled up next to a stuffed unicorn, head in its paws. Snape eyed him warily.

There was a moment's silence as the three of them stood there facing each other, finally broken by a slobbering sound from the corner where Fang was licking his arse.

"How 'bout some dandelion wine?" Hagrid asked them rather too heartily. He poured them each a glass and Snape sipped some, and he had to admit that it was as decent as it had been the last time. He drained his goblet in one drink and Hagrid poured him some more.

"So, how are the Centaurs keeping?" said Dumbledore. He seemed quite at ease, as though he was a frequent guest to Hagrid's hut, which, Snape supposed, he probably was. He was absurd like that.

"Oh, fine, fine," said Hagrid. "One o'their young wandered into the Aragog's colony by accident, but they reckon he'll be alrigh'."

Snape had no idea what Aragog was, and didn't want to know.

To his relief there was a knock at the door and Professor Flitwick walked in with a large package in his arms. He greeted them cheerfully and set about swishing his wand and draping balloons and streamers across the room. Professors Sprout and McGonagall showed up not long after, Sprout bearing a large cake topped with a model of a Chimaera that McGonagall had bewitched to pace back and forth and snap its jaws.

The other guests drifted in until nearly all the staff was there, including Professors Sinistra, Quirell, and Chumley, and the small space was getting crowded. Chumley was every bit as clumsy as he looked and kept knocking into him, much to his annoyance.

Dumbledore checked his watch. "It is...seven-thirty," he announced. He took something silver out of his robes and with a quick click all the light was sucked out of the room. The chatter ceased except for Chumley's hurried apologies for bumping into him yet again and a sharp retort from McGonagall when someone stepped on her foot.

They stood there in the dark so long Snape felt like a complete idiot. Someone coughed, and people started shifting and fidgeting, and just when he decided Kettleburn wasn't going to show up, the door opened and there was a thumping of wooden legs.

"Surprise!" shouted everyone except Snape. There was a click and the lanterns came back on. Kettleburn's mouth was open and the eye that wasn't covered in a patch was wide, and after a moment he threw back his head and laughed.

Snape knew a few staff members well enough now that the conversation wasn't unendurably awkward, but the talk would always drift to mutual friends and faraway travels and other things he couldn't relate to, and was relieved by the distraction when Flitwick offered them all a piece of cake and the enchanted miniature Chimaera started baring his teeth and attacking a terrified-looking Professor Quirell. Flitwick performed a quick Freezing Charm on the beast and sent dishes of cake flying to each of them.

The wine and beer was flowing as freely as the conversation and Snape was just starting to relax when an enormous hand thumped him on the back and his knees buckled.

"Professor Snape, so good of yeh to come," said Hagrid rather thickly. To his enormous discomfort Hagrid kept his hand on his back. His tankard was the size of a water pail and Snape wondered how many drinks he'd had in it.

"Yeh know, s' jus like bein part of a family," he said, and to Snape's horror he began to rub his back. Then he burst out laughing.

Professor Kettleburn hobbled over to him and he started laughing too, and soon it was Kettleburn's back Hagrid was rubbing and how they knew Muggle drinking songs Snape had no idea, but they were both singing "Whisky in the Jar" at the top of their voices. Snape glanced over at some of the others. Dumbledore found the whole thing amusing of course. McGonagall looked at Snape and gave him a wry smile.

By this time it was getting loud and though it hadn't been the disaster he thought it would be, he had to get away from the crowd and the noise. He was making his way back up the grounds and was surprised to see Professor Sinistra standing there, looking up at the night sky. He hadn't seen her leave.

"Oh, hello Professor Snape," she said. "I was just watching the Leonids."

Snape looked up as a meteor shot across the sky. "Ah yes, I had forgotten about those," he said quietly. They watched awhile, waiting for another.

"I think I must have the best job in the world, stargazing with my students every night," she said softly.

"I suppose that does sound rather nice," murmured Snape, still looking up. Another meteor streaked past, brilliant white. A fireball.

"You know, I never do tire of looking up at the sky. It's so fascinating to think of all the mysterious worlds beyond our own."

"That has always fascinated me too," said Snape, and this was partly true. He was more fascinated by what was growing in the ground, but he still had his own telescope, and brought it up to the astronomy tower every once in awhile.

Sinistra looked at him and smiled, and they stood and watched a few more meteors before she shifted on her feet and glanced towards Hagrid's hut. "Well, I suppose I should get back to the party," she said, and Snape was struck with the realization that she was like him, that she got overwhelmed by all the people and noise too. But she was far more gracious, more ordinary, more _together, _than he would ever be.

She started walking and glanced back at him. "Are you headed back to the party as well?"

Snape glanced back towards the castle, where his room was waiting, dark and quiet, but before he knew what was happening he was walking back to Hagrid's hut with her.

He wished he hadn't. Professor Sprout clapped him on the back and stuck a glass of something in his hand, and Snape saw that everyone was raising their glasses and toasting Kettleburn. All those nice people, normal people, people who'd never made a horrible mistake in their lives.

Snape took a long drink, and listened while Hagrid unleashed a stream of stories about all their ridiculous exploits, and he couldn't help but notice that everyone else had huddled in small groups and Professor Sinistra was laughing with Professor McGonagall and he was standing on the outside, along the wall, just like he always had, and he was sixteen years old again and all those fucking ordinary people, from ordinary families, were staring at him in the Great Hall, tripping him up in the corridors, laughing as Potter hung him upside-down. He was as ugly and worthless as his father had always told him he was and he had no idea what he was doing there.

He slammed his glass down so hard it shattered. Everyone went quiet and turned to look at him.

"What are you all staring at?" he growled. He glared at them all and swept from the room.

The sloping ground was so unsteady under his feet he could barely walk, and when something hard hit his foot he stumbled to the ground. He lay there, face on the cold grass, not bothering to get up. There didn't seem to be any point.

He didn't know how long he'd been there when a pair of enormous hands lifted him up off the ground.

"C'mon, Professor, let's get yeh back up ter the castle."

Snape was too out of his head to protest, and Hagrid's hand stayed on his back as they walked back up. Hagrid was weaving slightly and Snape had no idea how they were both managing to walk upright.

"I'm touched that yeh came, Professor," said Hagrid, words flowing from his mouth in one unbroken slur. "Whole staff thinks you're brilliant, Professor. Jus' brilliant. I was jus' sayin ter Dumbledore t'other day, I says 'Professor Snape is the most brilliant teacher in the whole school sir,' and he agreed with me."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, thinks very highly of you, Dumbledore. Great man." Hagrid squinted at him as though trying to get him into focus; or at least it looked like it, Snape couldn't really get him into focus either. "I remember when yer mum was at school, she was brilliant too. Top in everything, her 'n Minerva. How's she gettin along now?"

"She's dead," said Snape.

"'M sorry ter hear that, Professor," said Hagrid, and he sounded as though he meant it. "What abou' yer dad?"

"He's dead too."

For awhile there was no sound except the heavy staccatto of their footsteps. Then Hagrid sniffed. "I lost me dad too," he said. "Second year at Hogwarts." He wiped his face with his sleeve. "The staff's been like a family ter me." He clapped Snape on the back so hard he nearly fell over. "They'll be yer's too."

Snape had no idea what had got into Hagrid, but out of nowhere he opened his mouth and started singing. And not just any song. An old Muggle song that his mother used to sing when she did the housework. Heartbreak Hotel, he thought it was.

Maybe he'd lost his mind, maybe he just got caught up in the moment, but the next thing he knew his eyes were blurry and he was mumbling along.

They were nearing the castle now, and Hagrid belted out the last verse at the top of his lungs. Then he broke down sobbing. "Tha' was the most beaui'ful thing I ever heard," he wailed.

"You sounded like a dying Kneazle," mumbled Snape.

Hagrid paid no mind to his insult, and they staggered into the castle. To his great surprise, Hagrid helped him down the stairs and to his room. He'd just turned to go when Snape seized the back of his shirt.

"Hagrid," he said. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"Yes Professor sir?"

"If you tell anyone about this I will poison you."

Hagrid cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. "Righ' then. I'll see yeh tomorrow Professor."

"Good night Hagrid."

Snape stumbled into his bed and fell asleep with his clothes on.

* * *

Graihagh was finishing up her cornflakes when a barn owl swooped down in front of her with a letter in its beak, and she let it have the rest of her cereal as she glanced down at the return address. This one was from her dad and she couldn't help but feel relieved that it wasn't her granny. She'd sent her a letter a few weeks before going on and on about all the things she'd had planned for them the summer before, trying to make her feel guilty, and she was in no mood for it.

She slit open the envelope with a fingernail and read through her dad's letter before shoving it back in her pocket.

"Something wrong?" said Milo.

"I'll tell you in a bit," she said with a significant look, glancing over at Livia and her friends, who were close enough to hear her.

Milo got up with her and she glanced around the Entrance Hall before saying anything.

"My dad got laid off," she said.

"Oh," said Milo. "I'm sorry."

Graihagh shrugged. He'd find another job soon enough. She'd just have to hope she didn't need anything, because she'd already spent most of the money she'd made off her potions, and she knew he wouldn't have any to spare. Her granny was a pensioner, and he helped her with groceries and other expenses.

The common room had its usual lazy weekend feeling, people lounging around in chairs and talking or listening to the wireless while playing cards. Milo sank down in the sofa by the fire but Graihagh didn't feel much like joining him. She went to her dormitory and pulled a cloak and her potions kit out of her trunk.

The ground was white with frost and it was too late in the year to find many useful plants, but there were a few holly trees around that might have some berries on them, and some roots and things she could dig up. She took out her trowel and put on her dragonhide gloves and had just knelt down to dig up some nettle roots when she spotted a plant with thin leaves that she recognized from a book. Some of the leaves were still green, though the flowers had faded.

"A bit late in the season for harvesting yarrow, don't you think?"

Graihagh stiffed at the sound of the voice and looked up to see Professor Snape in a long black cloak, eyes red and face puffy, and Graihagh could've sworn he looked hungover, except she didn't think he ever did anything fun.

"Some of the leaves are still green," she said.

"I suppose," he said in a rather dismissive way as he looked down at the leaves in her hands. "But I find them most efficacious when picked in mid-summer."

"Yeah, well. I'll keep that in mind." She was trying her best not to sound rude but at the same time, she didn't want to talk to him."Sir," she added when he narrowed his eyes at her.

He started walking, hands behind his back, looking down at the ground. "Here," he said, pointing to a small plant with feathery fern-like leaves. "Rue. Not native to Scotland, but you can sometimes find it in the Hogwarts grounds."

Graihagh's first instinct was to ignore him, but for some reason she didn't. "It has powerful healing properties, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. Very useful to have on hand."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of dragonhide gloves, then bent down and picked the leaves and stems off one of the plants. Graihagh did the same.

She'd just opened up her Potions kit when it slipped in her bulky gloves and smashed on a rock, most of her vials smashing with it.

"Oh _fuck_," she muttered before she could stop herself, jamming broken box lid back on even though she knew it wouldn't work.

"Language, Miss Corlett," said Snape. He sneered down at her. "I believe Mending Charms are taught in first year?"

Graihagh bit her lip to stop herself saying anything, and tapped her wand at the wooden box. "_Reparo_." The lid wasn't really on straight, but it was fine otherwise. She crouched low, scrabbling at the spilt ingredients, but some were liquid and the rest were too spread out to be picked up. Some of them were expensive, and she didn't see how she'd be able to get more, not for awhile. She breathed out in frustration.

Snape looked at her much too closely for her liking. "Hogwarts has funds set aside for those who require assistance purchasing school materials."

"Really," she said, bundling up the rue leaves and trying not to sound as though she cared. She wondered how he could've guessed that she needed it.

Snape didn't say anything to this, just put the rue in the pocket of his robes. Graihagh turned and walked back towards the castle, anxious to get away.

"Miss Corlett."

She turned around.

"I trust you aren't still making potions outside of class?"

"No sir." Not during the school year, anyway.

"Good. Because if you do, I will find out about it, do you understand?"

Graihagh gave him the smallest nod, and hurried back to the castle, playing over the whole scene in her mind and wondering what it all meant. How he always seemed to know what was going on. How he showed up at dinner with people far more refined than he was. How he'd punished her and her friends, seemed angry at them even, for things Graihagh was sure he'd done himself, when he was younger.

She spent the rest of the day on homework, but later that evening Thorfinn nodded to her and a few others and they made their way to the abandoned classroom deep in the dungeons for another meeting.

About half of them had been seventh-years, so there weren't many of them left, just Thorfinn, Milo, Livia, and a few others.

"I thought we'd practise some spells today," said Thorfinn, who'd been appointed the new leader. "Pair up, and we'll see how you do."

This time Graihagh paired up with Milo.

Milo raised his wand. _"Stupefy!" _

The curse hit Graihagh too quickly to be unpleasant, but coming to on the floor was a right pain in the arse.

"I think I broke my fucking coccyx," she groaned into the stone floor. Milo's hand closed around hers and he pulled her up, and she rubbed her back as they switched places. She lifted her wand. She loved this part.

_"Stupefy!"_ she bellowed. Milo slumped to the ground. "_Finite,_" she muttered, tapping her wand to his chest.

"I see what you mean," he said as he sat up and rubbed his back.

They practiced it a few more times each, in spite of their sore arses. They'd only learned the theory in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Graihagh suppoed actually knowing how to do it would give them a bit of an edge.

"I know a good spell," said Milo, and everyone turned to look at him. "Stand back."

Milo flicked his wand and put a Silencing Charm on the room, then pointed his wand at a table. "_Confrigo!_"

One of the tables exploded, actually exploded, bits of wood flying out of the cloud of smoke. When the dust settled Thorfinn clapped Milo on the back and Milo stared at what was left of the table, flushed and grinning. He cleared it away with the Vanishing Spell that Graihagh still hadn't gotten the hang of.

"Nice one," said Thorfinn, and he actually looked impressed. Eager, even. "But we'd better be careful with it since, you know." He jerked his head towards the door, as though there were teachers waiting outside.

They practiced duelling for awhile, and when they were done Thorfinn called Graihagh and Milo back.

"Take a good look at this," he said in a low voice, glancing around even though the room was empty. He pulled out a book, one of the books Mr. Malfoy had given them. The black leather binding hadn't faded but for Graihagh knew, somehow, that it was very old. Thorfinn flipped through the heavy parchment. "Here. We should have a go at these sometime, yeah? Someplace we won't get caught."

The writing was dense and old-fashioned and she had trouble making out the words at first. "The Imperius Curse," she read softly. She looked up at Thorfinn. "You mean Unforgiveable Curses?"

"I don't know of any other Imperius Curse."

Graihagh shot him an annoyed look and glanced back down at the book. "Aren't they illegal though?"

"Not always," said Milo. "The Ministry used to use them all the time, my dad told me. Sometimes you have to, to protect yourself."

"I suppose so." She flipped to the next page, which was about something called the Cruciatus Curse. There was one of those old woodcut engravings on the next page, of a man whose mouth was open in a scream, and she didn't know what to think as she handed the book back to Thorfinn.

Milo glanced at Graihagh, an uncertain look on his face. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," he said slowly. "We wouldn't use them on anyone, not unless it was an emergency or something."

Graihagh didn't say anything to this, but Milo didn't seem to notice. His expression became more animated.

"Now I'll show you something," he said. "I managed to work out the inscription on this key. 'I can overcome death,' it says."

The back of Graihagh's neck prickled the way it had in the underground temple. "What do you think it means?"

"Don't know," said Milo, still looking down at the key. He tucked it back in his pocket. "But I'm going to try and find out."

Thorfinn clapped him on the back. "You're fucking brilliant, mate."

Milo grinned and they made their way back to the common room and sat down on the sofas in front of the fire where the rest of their friends were sitting, the noisy centre of everything, Thorfinn good-naturedly ribbing Milo while he laughed along with them. They were around the same age, but Thorfinn must've seemed like the older brother he'd never had.

Someone passed around cups of pumpkin fizz spiked with firewhisky and it relaxed her some but she couldn't really get into the spirit of things. She set her cup down after one drink and went up to her dormitory to lie down, her head a mess of thoughts that she couldn't untangle. There was something thrilling about everything they were learning, about the things Milo was saying, but something about it didn't feel right to her, and she didn't understand why.

She had a long lie-in the next morning, and when she woke up she rolled over to the side of the bed and pulled her potions kit out of her trunk, taking stock of what she needed and checking the price list she always had on hand, worn and creased with use. She was ten galleons short, plus she needed another twenty rolls of parchment, and that wasn't cheap either. She flopped back down on her bed and sighed. Her dad could probably manage to scrape up the money, but she didn't feel right asking, somehow. There was really nothing else for it.

Snape didn't really strike her as a morning person, so she waited until after lunch to knock on his office door, though she doubted his disposition would be any sunnier in the afternoon.

"Enter," he said, as he always did.

He had his nose stuck in another Agatha Christie mystery and didn't bother looking up until Graihagh was standing right in front of his desk.

"Miss Corlett," he said, in that faintly annoyed way he always spoke to her. He marked his place and set the book down. "Sit."

Graihagh took a seat on the hard wooden chair in front of his desk, shifting around a bit to find a more comfortable spot. She couldn't.

"Well?" said Snape.

Graihagh glanced up at the jars on the shelves and played the folds of her robes between her fingers. "You mentioned yesterday about...funds. For buying school supplies."

"And would you be requiring such funds?"

"Well...just a bit. You know, to restock my potions kit and get some parchment and things."

Snape opened up one of his desk drawers and pulled out a sheet of parchment. "I have the paperwork here. As your Head of House I can apply on your behalf, but you'll need to fill out this section of the form."

"Thank you sir," said Graihagh. She bent over her parchment, the only sound the scratching of her quill. "There isn't-no one would find out about this, would they?" she said as she handed the parchment back to him, remembering the kids in primary school who got free lunches.

Snape sat up straighter and slapped his hands down on the desk. "There is nothing to be ashamed of," he snapped.

Graihagh's heart pounded. "I'm sorry sir."

Snape took his hands from the desk and leaned back in his seat as though nothing had happened, and Graihagh shifted in her seat. "The funds should become available to you in a week or two. I will let you know."

Graihagh was relieved that he'd calmed down. "Thank you sir," she said, as nicely as she could manage.

Snape didn't say anything to this, just gave her a stiff nod, and she understood the dismissal. She was just walking out the door when she spotted a bright blue frog suspended in a jar of yellow liquid.

"Is that a poisonous dart frog sir?"

"Yes," said Snape. His clipped tone made it obvious he didn't care to stand around and talk about it, but Graihagh's couldn't help herself.

"What's it used for?"

"Potions."

"No shi-" Graihagh only stopped herself just in time. Snape's mouth was already open and he was glaring at her. "I'm sorry, I mean, what kinds of potions? Sir?"

For a moment she didn't think he was going to answer. "Antidotes, mostly. Now I suggest you leave before you run your mouth off and end up in detention."

"Yes sir," said Graihagh.

She walked back to the common room, thinking it all over. He was cold, sarcastic, bitter, and probably in league with evil wizards. And yet he'd helped her, and she couldn't understand why.

a href="_url_"_link text_ /a


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **Just a bit of background: 'Nollick Ghennal as Blein Vie Doa' means 'Happy Christmas and a Good New Year' in Manx Gaelic.

Things are going to start getting a bit darker and more intense from this point and there will be some violence in upcoming chapters, but there will be some fluff and intense friendship feels too, including a growing friendship between Snape and the OCs.

Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

Snape had been having the same dream for months now, more of a flashback than anything, old memories from his Death Eater days.

He dreamt he was waiting on a deserted street, and a young man was standing there alone, a hand in the pocket of his robes, looking nervous.

"__Stupefy!"__

The man collapsed onto the concrete, and Snape stood over him, satisfied with himself. He'd been tracking him down for over a month, with the help of Rookwood and a few other Ministry spies.

Quickly, in case the man's colleagues turned up, Snape grabbed him under the arms and pulled up the dead weight of him. Grabbing on to him tightly, he spun into the air, reappearing on the winding path that led to the house of the Lestranges.

Bellatrix had watched them come in, and she looked at the man avidly, toying with her wand and waiting to pounce, but he'd just been given the Mark by the Dark Lord, and this was his opportunity to prove himself worthy of it. It wasn't easy, getting into his inner circle. Only the most loyal, the most dedicated, the most valuable of his Death Eaters got in, and he'd done it on talent alone.

He took him to a small bedroom and sat him in a chair. There'd been a toy broomstick propped up in a corner and some brightly coloured books scattered about. Rabastan's old room, perhaps.

__"Incarcerous"__ Ropes shot out of his wand and the man was bound to the chair, still slumped sideways, unconcious.

"__Rennervate," __he muttered. The man's eyes widened and he started to shout, but Snape tipped his head and poured the vial of Calming Draught down his throat. The man slackened and his eyes had become dull, and Snape had known then that he was relaxed enough to be susceptible to Legilimency. It was a skill he'd mastered while still a student at Hogwarts, impressing and amusing his friends by reading their thoughts and memories. Dark Lord had been impressed himself, despite being the most accomplished Leglilimens he'd ever known, and Snape swallowed up every scrap of his praise like it was life-giving nourishment.

The flashes of thoughts were rapid but he was skilled at sifting through them. He stood and watched flashes of other Death Eaters, flashes of of Aurors gathered around a desk, making plans, then eventually more mundane images, a smiling young woman, a cup of tea and a page from the Daily Prophet. He stopped the spell and pulled out a vial of Veritaserum, placing a few drops into the man's mouth, and questioned him. It was not always reliable, Veritaserum, but he could piece what he said together with the images in his mind. He'd been able to ascertain that Ministry was planning to trap them during their next raid.

The man spoke for over quarter of an hour, then slumped over drowsily. "Thank you," Snape told him. "You have been most useful." The Dark Lord, he knew, would be pleased with the information. He walked out of the room, nodding towards Bellatrix. She could deal with him now.

Snape woke up in a cold sweat and sat up shaking, his head in his hands. He'd dreamt that Lily was standing in front of a cot screaming, and her screams were the screams of the man as he was being tortured.

He shot out of bed and pulled a book off the shelf, something, anything, to escape his own mind.

He read until it was time for breakfast and made his way to the table quickly, careful not to look at anyone. Nearly a week had passed since Hagrid's party, but he still couldn't stand to face any of them after what had happened there. Or after the dream he'd had, filled with memories that only reminded him of his brokenness. He felt exposed somehow, as though they could hear his thoughts.

"Morning, Professor Snape," said Sprout in her usual cheerful way.

"Good morning," Snape muttered as he sat down. He didn't want to look into her face and see disgust or pity there.

"Hello, Professor," said a voice Snape recognized. He stiffened as Professor Sinistra sat down next to him. She breakfasted late most mornings, because she taught so late at night he supposed, and he'd been hoping to avoid her.

She started to poke at her scrambled eggs and then paused and looked up at him.

"You know, if you enjoy stargazing, I recently acquired a new telescope."

"Did you?" said Snape, because he knew she expected him to say something.

"Yes, it's really very extraordinary, last night I got a detailed view of the Orion Nebula. You're welcome to borrow it anytime you like."

Snape chanced a glance at her before turning back to his food. "I thank you very much for the offer, Professor." He hoped he wasn't just offering it to him because she felt sorry for him.

He shoveled his food into his mouth and made his way to the potions classroom, to set up for his first class of the day, a seventh-year N.E.W.T class. Though he would never have admitted it to anyone, there were times he rather enjoyed teaching N.E.W.T., both because of the complexity of the potions they studied and because most of his students were skilled enough to understand them, if dimly.

When classes were done for the day he holed up in his room with a copy of __The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe __and a large packet of salt and vinegar crisps, Paracelcus purring in his lap. He sighed when he saw it was time for the Corlett girl's detention and he had to mark his place and set his book down.

The girl seemed to be warming up to him some, and though the thought was rather daunting he would need to stay in her good books, if only to keep an eye on her. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he marked essays, but she didn't seem to be acting any differently, until about an hour into the detention when she tucked something into the pocket of her robes. Snape was on his feet in a second.

"Pull it out," he said. She hesistated a second, then pulled out a yellowed card. "Give it to me."

He looked down at the faded writing. __Alethea Bennett and Bellatrix Black.__ __Apprehended using Tongue-Tying Curse on Emmaline Vance. Double detention.__

Snape had been in awe of Bellatrix when he'd first joined up, her enormous skill, her ruthlessness, her fanatical devotion to their cause. He'd felt, watching her, the way some might watch a talented musician or athlete, mesmerized by the display of skill.

But he noticed things, after awhile, the way she would drag the torture on and on, never looking discomposed, sometimes even laughing. Rarely did she kill anyone right away; she would torture them, or make them dance for her, or bind them and make them wait in terror. She was mad, unhinged, and she'd been as devoted as the Dark Lord to the task of hunting down Lily. The sight of her name disturbed him.

"Someone you know?" he asked, looking at her closely.

The girl was scowling and staring at the fireplace. "My mother," she mumbled.

She couldn't have been referring to Bellatrix. He didn't recognize the other name from his Death Eater days, but then he hadn't known all of them. A memory came to him, of a dark-haired woman standing in front of a cupboard telling the girl she didn't want her. She couldn't have been much of a mother.

"Does she live with you?" he said.

The girls started a little. "What? No."

Snape had supposed as much.

"Well, I would advise against following in her footsteps, do you understand?" He looked at her intently, willing her to understand his meaning, but the girl looked down at the table and didn't say anything.

The girl became distracted after that, staring off into space and sometimes copying the same card twice, the writing so sloppy he could barely read it. He nearly opened his mouth to tell her to do them all again, but for some reason he didn't. After another hour had passed he let her go.

He went back to his room and opened his book but after he'd read the same poem twice without remembering a word he set the book down and stood in front of the fire, staring into it a long time before making his way up to the stone Gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office. He knew Dumbledore would still be awake even at that late hour, and sure enough when Snape walked into his office he found him sitting up in his pyjamas, sipping a steaming mug of hot chocolate and reading Machiavelli's __The Prince.__

"This is a pleasant surprise, Severus," he said, putting down his book. "What brings you here at this hour?"

It was only then that Snape realized he was playing right into the old schemer's hands, doing exactly what he'd asked him to do years before. He was spying on his own students. Dammit.

But it was too late now, and anyway, he was genuinely concerned. He sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk. "Headmaster, I am growing concerned about some of my students," he said. Dumbledore looked at him intently and waited for him to continue. "It appears Miss Corlett spent the summer with Mr. Selwyn. Lucius seems to have taken an interest in them."

Dumbledore looked very serious now. "I see," he said finally. "And you feel he is attempting to influence them?"

"Possibly. I also suspect Miss Corlett may have been brewing potions outside of school."

Dumbledore knew all about the girl's theft of his store cupboards. "Well," he said, still very serious, "Keep a close eye on them, Severus."

"I intend to, Headmaster."

There was a pause and a question came to his mind. "I was wondering if you know anything about Miss Corlett's mother? One Alethea Bennett?"

Dumbledore sat quietly a moment, one hand over a biscuit tin, thinking. "As it so happens, I do," he said finally. "I was at her trial."

Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Her trial?"

"Yes. She was charged with being an accessory to murder-a murder that, incidentally, Bellatrix was charged with committing. Both were acquitted."

There was a pause as Snape considered what he had just heard. "So they were innocent?"

Dumbledore paused a moment. "I would say rather that there wasn't enough evidence for a conviction."

This made sense, knowing Bellatrix. He doubted she'd ever been innocent of anything. "And her father? He's a Muggle, is he not?"

"Surprising though it may seem, he is. Whether he ever knew what she was, I cannot say."

This seemed strange to him, but he made no comment on it. Dumbledore spoke into the silence.

"I must ask you not to tell Miss Corlett any of this, Severus. It would be too much for her." He paused. "I have reason to believe her mother felt great remorse."

Snape made a skeptical noise, but Dumbledore didn't seem to notice. "And," he added, giving him one of the piercing looks he knew so well,"I do not believe Miss Corlett is too far gone to benefit from your guidance, nor Mr. Selwyn, or any of your other students. Mr. Rowle, for instance, or Miss Travers."

The Death Eaters' children. Snape gave a brief nod to show that he had heard and understood, but he was not sure he believed it.

When he got back to his room, he stood in front of the fire, his hands on the back of a chair. She was not the only student in his house with a parent in Azkaban, nor was she the only one he had to keep an eye on, but he had a worse feeling about her, and the Selwyn boy, who reminded him so much of himself. The Dark Lord would return, that he knew, and they were exactly the kind to join his ranks. He was surprised at how much it troubled him, that there seemed to be two budding Death Eaters in his house.

After all, they weren't doing anything he hadn't done himself.

* * *

Graihagh had picked her nails so short they stung. She wet her fingers in her mouth and blew on them as she stared into the fire.

"Everything alright?" said Milo, who was sitting beside her.

"Yeah. I'm fine." This wasn't really true, but she didn't really know how to explain to him that her mother hadn't been anything more than a petty troublemaker and a junkie.

Milo stared out the window for awhile, watching a kelpie drift past, then turned back to her. "Do you want to spend the holidays with me?"

Graihagh looked back at him in surprise, then stared at the fire. Her dad had written her, asking her to come home, and she'd told him she would. "I don't know."

"Well, why don't you think about it? I thought we could practice some more spells, and you could make more potions."

"I suppose so."

Her voice was hesitant, uncertain, but he'd had her from the moment he'd asked, really. She knew how lonely he was.

Milo rolled up his parchment. "I think I'm going to turn in," he said. "Goodnight."

"'Night."

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when Thorfinn sat down beside her.

"I've got something for you," he said.

Graihagh looked up from the fire. The flames had died down to glowing coals and her eyelids were starting to droop and she was glad for the distraction. "What?"

Thorfinn reached into his robes and pulled out small box. "Be careful with it."

Graihagh pushed open the lid with her thumb and looked down at the thin pieces of what looked like pure silver. Occamy eggshells.

"How did you get this?" she breathed. "They're supposed to be really expensive, these." She picked up a piece and held it between her fingers.

"I know where to get them. I thought maybe you could have a go at the Felix. Think you can do it?"

She set the pieces of silver back inside the box and looked at him. His usual cocksure smirk was gone, and he looked serious.

This was her chance to prove herself, to do something big, to make her mark. Felix Felicis was easily the most complex potion taught at Hogwarts, and if she could make it, no one would ever doubt her again. She'd never doubt herself.

And this would be one potion Snape wouldn't find out about, provided Thorfinn didn't do anything stupid with it. She supposed it wouldn't hurt just to try it. She didn't have to give him any.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll have to do it at Milo's parents house or somewhere though. Not here. And I don't know who's going to watch if for me for a whole six months."

"You're spending the holidays with Milo?"

"He invited me so, yeah, I reckon I will."

Thorfinn smiled and opened his mouth, but Graihagh cut him off. "There's nothing going on, so stop looking at me like that."

Thorfinn just smirked and Graihagh could tell he didn't believe her, and it frustrated her, that he'd take the depth of their friendship and shrink it down into something trivial. Without looking at him she tucked the box into her robes and sank back into the sofa, hoping he'd get the message and leave her alone. She stayed there long after he'd left.

She barely slept that night. Images kept flashing in her mind, her father's face, jets of light shooting out of her wand, simmering cauldrons, thick golden potion. The Christmas holidays were so short anyway, and they'd have to spend hours just traveling back and forth, if the boats were even running. She'd see her father next summer, when they'd have two whole months together. She would promise him that.

But she didn't really know what to tell Cate. She knew it would seem strange, spending all her holidays with Milo, when they weren't even a couple. Instead she told her she was spending Christmas back in Mann, and felt sick inside as they hugged goodbye at King's Cross. When Cate pulled away Graihagh made as though to look for her dad, waiting until she'd left with her family before joining Milo.

She thought his mother seemed a little annoyed with her, but his father seemed happy enough to see them, clapping Milo on the shoulder and giving her one of those easy smiles. The second she she was in her old room she set her bag on the floor and closed and locked the door. She the cauldron on a desk and lit a fire underneath it, letting it heat up as she chopped and crushed, the contentment settling into her tense muscles, relaxing them. She worked until it was nearly morning, but mixture was thin and foul-smelling and she knew she hadn't gotten it right.

She spent the next three days shut away in that room, concentrating harder than she ever had in her life and nearly running out of ingredients. On Christmas Eve she thought she finally had it. She lowered the flames and set it aside, crawling into bed and watching the moonlight gild the edges of the cauldron.

She was changing out of her robes when she felt something in her pockets, and remembered the letter she'd gotten from her dad just before she left for the Christmas holidays. She'd been so absorbed her work she'd completely forgotten about it. She sat down on the edge of the bed and slit it open.

Something thin and silver slipped out, and Graihagh scooped it up with her fingers and held it by its delicate chain. It was a pendant, old and heavy, in a Celtic knotwork pattern she thought she recognized, a sailor's knot. She stared at it, clenching her jaw and tightening up her face so nothing would come out. Then she picked up the letter and saw that crooked writing she knew so well.

__Dear Graihagh,__

__I hope you have a good Christmas. Your granny wanted you to have the necklace. It was given to her by your grandfather. I hope you like it.__

__I've got a job interview lined up after the holidays, so things are looking up. I miss you very much, the house seems quiet without you here. I hope to see you this summer.__

__Nollick Ghennal as Blein Vie Doa!__

__Love,__

__Dad__.

Graihagh crawled into bed and clutched the pendant to her chest, and it was a long time before she fell asleep.

She didn't know what time it was when she woke up, just that it was still night, because the sky outside the windows was dark and the house was asleep. She tried to go back to sleep, but she kept thinking of the book full of curses, and the potion simmering beside her bed, and how much she'd given up just so she could make it. She didn't know how to Vanish it, but she wanted to pick it up anyway, pick it up and throw it out the bloody window. She pulled the covers off and went over to the desk, picking up the cauldron by the handle. She looked down at the Felix, the fumes hitting her nose. It wasn't sulphuric and sharp like so many potions; it was sweeter, almost like something baking. Slowly, hands shaking with the weight of it, she set it down and got back into bed.

She couldn't remember going to sleep, but she must have, because suddenly there was light hitting her eyes. She pulled the covers off and got out of bed, not expecting any presents, but she heard the thud of something hitting the floor. She picked up the book and ran her hands along it and saw that it was from Milo, a book on potions. She'd gotten him something similar, a book on obscure hexes and curses. She set it down on her bed before washing and putting on her green dress robes and heading downstairs.

"Happy Christmas!" his father called out as she sat down.

"Happy Christmas," she said, mostly to Milo, since didn't know his father that well and didn't really give a shit if his mother had a happy Christmas. Milo gave her a small smile.

"Thanks for the book," she said him. "Did you get anything good?"

"Yeah. I got a broomstick servicing kit."

"Is he any good at Quidditch?" asked his mother, who was sipping a goblet of wassail.

"He's very good," Graihagh said fervently.

"I remember the first time he rode a broomstick," his mother went on, without any sign that she'd heard her. "Bucked him right off. We had to take him to St. Mungo's."

"But Slytherin won the Quiddtich cup last year, in no small part due to Milo I'm sure," said his father pointedly. His mother just drained her goblet and snapped her fingers for the elf to bring more.

"Well," said Milo's father, perhaps to break the tension, "I suppose things will get hectic when you get back, with O.W.L.s coming up."

Milo's mother looked over at Graihagh. "Perhaps you could make Milo some Felix Felicis," she said. "Then he might manage to scrape a few As."

Graihagh opened her mouth to tell her to fuck off, but glanced at Milo and closed it again, knowing he'd be humiliated if she said anything.

She wolfed down her smoked salmon and eggs and followed him up the stairs to the long hallway that led to their rooms. Milo was walking away from her, and had just reached the door to his room when Graihagh put a hand to his shoulder.

Milo jerked his arm away. He wasn't as tall as she was, but he'd bulked up some and his voice had deepened. "Leave me alone."

Graihagh's first thought was to turn right around and go to her room without another word to him, but she wasn't going to, not this time. There were reasons he'd invited her there that had nothing to do with spells and potions.

"I just wanted to tell you how much I liked that book you got me," she said, trying to make her voice casual, as though nothing had happened at breakfast. "I was wondering if you wanted to come read with me."

Milo looked away from her a moment. "Alright," he said. He Summoned his book from his room and they went downstairs to the sitting room.

They were sitting side-by-side, so close they were touching. He had the soft firmness of a man that she'd been longing to feel, the clean earthy smell, but there were no sparks, no jolts, just tiny static pulses drowned out by the simple comfort of him being there. They stayed like that a long time, not really saying much, not really needing to.

He looked calmer when they put their books down and went to have dinner, not so tense as he'd been before. It was a quiet meal, and when they were done she and Milo headed up to their rooms while his parents got ready for a party they were hosting that evening.

After awhile the guests started to stream in, and the talk and laughter coming from downstairs was cozy at first, like all those times her aunts and uncles and cousins would come visit Mann and they'd all get together at her granny's house. But as the night when on the talk kept getting louder and faster and stranger and she knew every single one of them was out of their heads on something. She closed her eyes and remembered the way she'd sometimes felt when she was little and she was riding in a car late at night, like there was no one else around. She imagined Milo lying in his bed down the hall, feeling the same way she did, feeling that way every night of his life.

She slept late the next morning, and when she'd dressed and come downstairs it was to find the elf bustling about in the kitchen making bacon and eggs. Milo was already dressed and sitting at the table and his expression was hard to read.

"I got an owl from Thorfinn," he said. "He wants to come over later and practise."

Graihagh felt a thrill of something, nerves or fear she didn't know. She gave him a small nod to show he'd heard him and dumped ketchup over her eggs.

Thorfinn breezed out of the fireplace in the sitting room awhile later, shaking the ashes from his sleeves and running a hand through his hair and holding the book he'd shown them before the holidays.

"Have a good Christmas?" he said to them as he set the book down on a table.

"Yeah, it was alright," said Milo, with half a glance at Graihagh.

Thorfinn looked from one to the other with an eyebrow slightly raised, and Milo flushed and his expression changed and he gave Thorfinn a little half-smile. Graihagh opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, because she understood why he'd done it, understood how badly he needed to fit in. She just hoped Thorfinn would keep his mouth shut. She didn't need all the Slytherins thinking they were together.

"Should we get started then?" she said, to distract them all from that sticky moment.

Milo Summoned a few pencils from somewhere, and Graihagh watched as he Transfigured them into grasshoppers. He tapped his wand to them in turn.

"__Engorgio.__" The grasshoppers swelled to three times their size.

"Ok," he said under his breath, pointing his wand and concentrating so hard his face was all scrunched up. Graihagh almost laughed.

__"Imperio!"__ The grasshopper l just sat there on the Axminster, looking around contentedly. He tried again.

__"Imperio!" __Still nothing.

"Well, it's a pretty powerful spell," said Graihagh, careful to sound reassuring without showing too much sympathy. "We can't expect to get it right the first few tries."

"I suppose so," said Milo. He raised his wand again.

His parents must have been having a long lie-in; they never came in the room, and she and Milo and Thorfinn stayed there for what felt like a couple of hours, pointing their wands and shouting again and again.

"__Imperio!"__

Something warm and pleasant flowed down through her arm. Quickly she thought,

"__Do a backflip."__ The grasshopper flipped backward in one fluid motion.

"Look at that." Thorfinn watched the grasshopper and then turned to look at her. He actually looked impressed and Graihagh couldn't help grinning.

She tried it again. This time she had it do a frantic dance with its back legs and it was such a funny sight she started to laugh out loud.

"Ok, let me try again," Thorfinn muttered. She had the feeling he wasn't about to be shown up.

In a few more tries, he had it the grasshopper spinning in circles and this time even he smiled. He looked over at Milo. "Want to have another go at it?"

Milo stared down at the grasshopper and pointed his wand, forehead creased.

"__Imperio__!"

Graihagh watched as the grasshopper jumped into the fire. Milo's expression was alive, almost excited, and it startled her. And yet in some sense, she understood. To channel her will through magic, to control something so completely, to feel it flow through her, was thrilling. But he was dragging it out so long.

"Aren't you going to stop?" she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

Milo looked into the fire a second longer, then let it go, shrinking it back down to its regular size. Graihagh let out a shaky breath and glanced at Thorfinn, who looked just as alive and excited as Milo did.

"Nice one," he said. "Now let's try another spell." He lifted his wand, face serious. __"Crucio!"__

"Wait!" shouted Graihagh before she could stop herself. Thorfinn and Milo turned to look at her.

"Maybe we should stop for now."

"Why?" said Thorfinn. "We finally got it. Don't get soft on us."

Graihagh gripped her wand tighter but didn't lift it.

"Just imagine it's about to attack you."

Graihagh squeezed her eyes shut and imagined some rabid creature about to pounce.

"__Crucio!__" Nothing happened.

Graihagh tucked her wand into her pocket. "I think I need a break," she said, and without looking back at them she left the room and sank down on a chair in the kitchen. She could hear Thorfinn and Milo shouting from down the hall.

She drew her knees up to her chest and stared out the window where a bird was resting on the branch of a hawthorn tree. Maybe Thorfinn was right, maybe she was just being too soft. It wasn't like they were going to go off and use it on anyone, not unless their lives were in danger or something. She supposed she'd just have to get used to that sort of thing.

Without really knowing why she heard Snape's voice in her head.

__I would advise against following in her footsteps.__

But she pushed it away.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **This chapter is going to have some sexual content in the form of a flashback. It wont' be explicit or anything. I really just wanted to explore Snape's loneliness and fear of intimacy.

Some of the upcoming chapters were a bit short so I've been combining them to make them longer, and I've got the story down to about 46 chapters. So we're getting closer to the end :) Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

The Christmas decorations had gone up once again, and the castle emptied as students left for the holidays. What with his concerns over his students, the corridor full of cursed ice, and catching yet another troublemaker stealing from his private stores, Snape was relieved to be shot of them, if only for a few weeks.

The feast passed tolerably enough, with the decent food and the company of Dumbledore, McGonagall, Fliwick and Sprout. McGonagall's eyes were rather red and she didn't say much, and it was hard to believe that only a year ago she'd been waltzing around her sitting room with Elphinstone.

He was restless when he got back to his room. He pulled out the book Lily had given him, as he always did at Christmas, tracing the writing he knew so well with his fingers and staring a long time at those words. He brought the book close to his face as though part of her were still inside it and breathed it in. He read until he couldn't keep his eyes open and clutched it to his chest as he fell asleep.

He couldn't settle to anything when he woke up the next morning, so after he'd finished breakfast, he put on his cloak and strode to the gates, where he Disapparated.

Diagon Alley was packed with shoppers, but he supposed this would make it easier to blend into the crowd. Following closely behind a group of wizards, he ducked into Knockturn Alley, which was nearly empty, and made his way down the cobbled street, not really knowing where he was going.

Without really thinking about it he walked into a tavern near the end of the street, and the smell of musty wood and firewhisky brought him back to the night after he'd had the Dark Mark burned into his skin, when Mulciber and Avery took him out drinking to celebrate

Mulciber told him to draw up the sleeves of his robes so that his Dark Mark was showing, and only a few minutes had passed before a young woman sat next to him and started chatting him up. She was friendly and talkative enough but her eyes looked like they'd lived a hundred years and they were fixed on his, as though she was trying to send him a message that had nothing to do with the words coming out of her mouth.

Before long the others started going upstairs with the women they'd been talking to. Snape couldn't stand being the only one left, and he wanted to know what it felt like, so he beckoned her to follow him and they made their way upstairs, Snape's heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his head and his senses so amped-up everything felt loud. He was excited, aroused, but his hands were sweaty and shook on the banister.

The room was lit by a single candle and he was glad the light was dim, though the woman didn't seem to take any notice of his scrawny arms and legs as he undressed. She asked him if he wanted her to blow out the candles before they got started, he breathed out his relief, because she wouldn't be able to see him as well that way.

He tried to forget who he was, to lose himself in the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body against his. He'd never touched anyone like this, never been close to anyone like this, and yet he felt as far away from her as though he were in a different room, almost as though he wasn't even inside his own body. When it was over he'd lain there with her underneath him, his lips pressed into her shoulder, while his breathing slowed. He wanted to ask he what she'd been through, wanted to tell her everything, all the strain he'd been under, all the things he'd seen.

But when his mind cleared the thought of it was more than he could stand and he got up and dressed quickly without looking at her again, making his way downstairs where Avery and Mulciber and the others had clapped him on the back and laughed with him. He'd liked the attention, even if he felt let down.

He'd avoided the place after that, and didn't go out drinking much, except sometimes with Lucius or Regulus. One night, when they'd had too much to drink Regulus broke down, told him how much he hated it all, how he hated himself for what he was doing. He pulled Snape close to him, his head on Snape's shoulder, lips pressed into his neck, and Snape hadn't pushed him away, because he couldn't, because he hadn't felt so close to anyone since his days on the riverbank with Lily, because he longed to press him against his chest until he melted into his body and filled up all the empty spaces inside him. But it was a fleeting thing, gone as quickly as it had come, and when Regulus pulled away he didn't try to touch him again.

The tavern was nearly empty now, except for a hooded figure sitting up at the bar. Snape sat down a few seats away from them.

"Severus?" said a voice he knew. He turned to face her.

"Narcissa? Is Lucius with you?"

Narcissa glanced around the bar and pulled her hood down. "No, I decided to come on my own."

Snape's eyes flickered around the grimy, dimly lit bar with its smoke-stained walls and rough wood and grimy glasses and the whole thing seemed rather strange to him. He might feel at home at a place like this, but it must've been an absolute dive to her.

"I know you're wondering what I'm doing in a place like this," she said with a knowing smile, as though she'd guessed what he'd been thinking. "When I came of age my parents threw a lavish party for me but I snuck out with Bella and we came here instead. And then when Regulus came of age we took him. Every once in awhile I like to come back here."

Snape started a little at the sound of Regulus's name, but Narcissa didn't seem to have noticed. "There's a certain mask one has to wear at times, do you know what I mean? Sometimes it's nice to just take it off."

"Yes, I suppose it is," said Snape, and he understood her. She went out drinking in dives like this for the same reasons he did, the same reason he swore and spat and bought things out of the bargain bin. It was her own private rebellion, her own _fuck you _to the rigid life of protocol she'd had to live since she was born.

He knew Narcissa expected him to say something, but he didn't have a clue what. He'd never been anywhere alone with her, without Lucius to keep the conversation going. He ordered his drink and drummed his fingers on the bar, squirming with discomfort and wishing he hadn't walked in.

"So how was your Christmas?" he asked after awhile. This was usually a safe question.

"Oh, it was fine. A bit quiet." Narcissa's smile faltered and only then did Snape realize that nearly all of her relatives were dead, disowned, or in Azkaban.

"How is Draco?" he said quickly, supposing this might be a more cheerful subject, and her face softened.

"He's doing so well. And he's so bright Severus, he's reading already. I got him some books for Christmas."

So he wouldn't have to pretend the boy wasn't a dunce when he taught him in class one day. That was something. "And Lucius?"

Narcissa took another drink and smiled a little. "Same as always." She played with her cocktail stick and her expression turned serious. "To tell you the truth he's been a bit restless since the war ended. I think he misses it in some ways." She looked at him closely. "Do you ever miss it?"

Snape didn't know what to say to this. They'd been a band of brothers, brought together by a shared sense of purpose and importance, a strange thrown-together family, but that was before the fucking prophecy. "I suppose so."

Narcissa was quiet awhile. "Can I tell you something?"

Snape tensed, knowing she was about to get personal again.

She glanced about the bar, where a few cloaked figures were sitting at a table in the corner. She drew her wand out of her pocket. "_Muffliato."_

Snape looked at her in surprise. "You remember that spell?"

"Of course," she said, smiling a little at his expression. "It's come in useful at times, I can tell you that."

Snape barely held in a smile as she put her wand back in her pocket and sat closer to him.

Her expression turned serious again, and she was quiet a moment. "I hated the war. All I did was worry over Lucius and Draco. There were times I didn't know if we were going to survive it. And there were so many things Draco shouldn't have seen...I'm so scared it might've done something to him..." her voice faltered, and she took a breath and recovered herself. "I've told Lucius he's foolish for trying to stir up trouble again. I just don't see why we can't simply use our influence in the Ministry, but it doesn't seem to be enough for him lately..." She stopped, and she looked shaken. "You won't tell anyone I've said this, will you?"

"Of course not," said Snape. Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them.

Narcissa swirled the last of her drink in her glass before bringing it to her lips. "Well," she said, setting it down on the counter. "I suppose I really should get going." She looked uncertain and Snape had a feeling she felt she'd said too much. She threw her hood up over her head, and as she stood up she touched his hand. Snape started and jerked it away.

Narcissa's face flushed. "It was good seeing you," she said, her voice hesistant, uncertain.

"Likewise," said Snape, doing his best to sound cool and unconcerned, but awkwardness hung in the air between them. Narcissa gave him a long, searching look-was it pitying?-and turned to leave.

Snape finished his drink quickly and left, eager to get away for some reason. He was just making his way towards the apothecary when a tabby cat stepped in front of him and looked up into his face. Another stray wanting food, he supposed, but this one looked clean and well-fed and what was more, its expression was entirely too judgemental for something that just needed his attention. Snape narrowed his eyes at it before realizing how foolish the whole thing was and without another look at it he walked away.

The apothecary was quiet except for the creak of the floorboards and the soft rustle of parchment from the counter where the clerk was flipping through a book, and he walked through it slowly, picking up jars, examining the ingredients, breathing them in. He'd always liked the way the place smelled, bitter and earthy and sharp. Once he'd found everything he needed and paid, he gave the clerk a significant look.

"Lucius Malfoy tells me you have certain items available for purchase."

The clerk looked back at him a moment, then with a nod towards the back wall he stepped out and tapped the wood with his hand, gesturing Snape to follow him through a door that had appeared there.

The room was more like a storage closet, dusty and dim, lit by a single lamp whose light flickered off the vials and jars of pickled animals and potions.

"What can I get you?" the clerk asked, as casually as though he were buying dried nettles.

"I would like a vial your most potent undetectable poison."

The clerk ran his finger along a shelf filled with bottles and vials and stopped at a vial of clear liquid. It was an ordinary cylinder, not unlike a Muggle medicine bottle, and he was glad the man had the sense not to put it in a vial shaped like a skull or something ridiculous, the way some of them did.

"Fifty galleons," he said. This seemed outrageous to Snape but he paid it.

He walked back through the street with his hands in his pockets, head bent against the chilly wind, and didn't see the Selwyn boy and the Corlett girl until he brushed past them.

The Corlett girl started a little, and for a few seconds the two of them just stood staring at him.

"Mr. Selwyn. Miss Corlett," said Snape, narrowing his eyes at them. Shopping in Knockturn Alley just another one of those things everyone did and no one talked about, but still, something about it made him uneasy. "This is...unexpected."

"We were just having a look around sir," said the Selwyn boy in a rather earnest, placating sort of voice.

"Really?" said Snape, with a glance at the Corlett girl, whose expression was hard to read. There was something challenging in her eyes, almost defiant, as though she was just itching to ask him what he was doing there. Not that he would've told her anything. "Well, I would suggest you not linger," he said. "It can be a dangerous place for two unaccompanied teenagers."

"Yes sir," said the boy, and with a glance at the girl he started walking towards the entrance to Diagon Alley, the girl following him. Snape walked alongside them awhile, but as he spun into air he thought he caught glimpse of them ducking back into Knockturn Alley.

He tried not to dwell on it as he went back to his room at the castle and took off his cloak and boots. He pulled the vial out of his robes and held it up to his face, watching the way the watery liquid caught the light.

* * *

Graihagh thought she'd caught a glimpse of Snape Disapparating but she glanced all around her as she and Milo ducked back into Knockturn Alley. "That was close."

"Yeah," said Milo. "It's a good thing it was Snape and not McGonagall or somebody."

"I know. Don't see what McGonagall would be doing round Knockturn Alley though," said Graihagh, as a tabby cat walked past them. She could've sworn the thing was watching them.

"I suppose."

They walked in silence awhile, until they got to the narrow alley near the end of the street. Graihagh followed Milo inside the door that had appeared there, down the stairs, into that dark stale air that seemed to breathe.

They were jerked into the dark by some unseen force and when they stopped they were back in the temple, and just like before she could've sworn there were voices from somewhere just beyond them. The back of her neck prickled.

"What are we looking for, exactly?"

"Don't know," said Milo. "But we'll know it when we see it."

They spread out, Milo taking one side of the room and Graihagh the other, but the place seemed empty, except for a few empty potions bottles and some graffiti etched on the walls. _King Henry is a bull pizzle_. She laughed, but it was so loud and out of place she quickly stifled it.

"I think I found something."

Graihagh turned to look at Milo and saw that he was holding a locked box in his hands. He eased the key into it.

Graihagh's chest was tight. "Are you sure you should do that?"

"It's alright," murmured Milo, as though he'd barely heard her. He lifted the lid of the box and pulled out a sheet of parchment.

"It's instructions," he said after he'd studied it awhile. "For a regeneration potion. And there's a signature hear. Norfolk."

"So what does it all mean?" said Graihagh, looking over his shoulder.

"Don't know. The name sounds familiar though."

He held the parchment up to his face and studied it. "I think I'm going to keep this." With the very tips of his fingers he put the parchment back in its box and tucked the box into the pockets of his robes.

"Do you want to look around some more?" he said, glancing around. "The tunnels go all over central London."

Graihagh opened her mouth to say no, but Milo looked so eager, and they had a few hours to kill before the train left anyway.

"Alright."

She followed him out of the temple into a long tunnel so dark the light from their wands barely touched it. All Graihagh could see was the blue-white outline of Milo's head and neck.

There was a faint shuffling in the distance, a light growing closer.

"Just a centurion," said Milo, and as the light grew closer Graihagh saw the translucent figure of a man in a covered in armour and wearing a long cloak. He nodded to them as he passed.

"This used to be a Roman road," said Milo. "Sometimes whole columns of soldiers come marching down it.

Graihagh had just opened her mouth to say something when the light from their wands flickered and the air went cold. She could have sworn she heard a voice.

"Let's get out of here."

Milo didn't seem to have heard her. He was staring at something she couldn't see, breathing fast, almost hypnotized.

Something like freezing cold air slid up her back.

"Now." She tugged at his sleeve.

Icy hands were closing around her neck. She tried to yell but only a strangled gurgle came out. She writhed and kicked and tried with everything she had to tear herself away but she was getting dizzy and there were bright lights flashing in front of her eyes.

"Graihagh-" Milo put his hands to her face and said something, but she didn't know what. She was fighting to breathe with everything she had.

There was flash of fire-or maybe it was just her own eyes, she didn't know-and the next thing she knew Milo was dragging her out of the tunnel. She slumped against a wall and gasped for air.

Milo knelt down in front of her. "Are you alright?" His voice was shaking.

"I don't know," said Graihagh, still breathing hard. "Let's just get out of here. Please."

"I'll help you." He took her hand and pulled her up, helping her up the stairs, not stopping until they were back in Knockturn Alley.

She stopped and leaned against a brick wall to catch her breath.

"Are you sure you're alright?" said Milo, putting a hand to her shoulder.

"Yeah," said Graihagh, because she was too shaky to say anything else. "I'll be ok."

They stood and rested there awhile, and Milo insisted on stopping for a warm Butterbeer to calm her nerves. Neither of them said anything more about it as they got their things together and boarded the train, but Graihagh couldn't stop shaking.

She looked into all the compartments they passed, hoping to see Cate, and finally found her in a compartment full of Hufflepuffs, and but the compartment was full, and Cate gave her an apologetic look as Graihagh looked in through the window. She followed Milo to a compartment that was empty except for Thorfinn and Livia, who was resting her head on his shoulder. Maybe it was the way they were touching, or maybe it was something else, but she knew somehow that they'd started sleeping together over the summer. Her stomach clenched at the thought of it and she didn't know why. Or maybe she did. But she pushed that thought out of her mind.

She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window, limp and washed-out. She distracted herself thinking of the potion she'd made, the way it swirled around the cauldron and glowed with its own light. She'd had to tell Milo's father about it, so he could watch it for her, make sure there was a low, even heat underneath it. She knew by the look on his face when he saw the cauldron that he'd want a cut. She supposed she'd just have to deal with that later.

When they got back to the castle Milo ate his dinner quickly and left, and not until Graihagh had been sitting in the common room awhile with Scooter in her lap did he come back.

"I found out who Norfolk is," he said.

"What are you two on about?" said Thorfinn, who was sitting on his other side.

Milo pulled the key out of the pocket and explained how they'd found it. "Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk. He was an extremely powerful wizard, but he kept it a secret from everyone. He wrote all kinds of books and invented spells and magical objects."

Part of her almost smiled at his excitement, but she couldn't get those icy hands out of her mind. Probably they had nothing to do with it, but still, something about it scared her. "Like what?"

"Like an enchanted clock that ages whoever's around it when its running. And a dagger that can cut whatever's in front of it. And he claimed he could stop himself dying."

Graihagh caught a snatch of a long-buried memory, but she couldn't place it. "So did he?"

"Well, the book said he died of natural causes. But this potion..." He showed Graihagh the parchment.

Graihagh held the parchment with the tips of her fingers and read through the instructions with growing horror. "I hope you don't expect me to make this. Bone of the father...that's some twisted shit."

"I know it is. But it's fascinating, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," said Graihagh, handing back the parchment and sounding like she didn't care. But scared as she still was, it fascinated her too.

The first week of the new term passed by in a blur, and by Friday night she was drained. She'd hoped that by now Snape might've changed his mind about her detentions, even though she knew it was downright daft to expect anything less from him than a fanatical devotion to making his students suffer, even the Slytherins.

Just about every detention she'd had to sit hunched over that table, filling out those bloody cards until her brain was drowning in them, alert and tense for any sight of her mother's name. Once before she'd found it again, with Bellatrix. The first detention of the new term, she found it alone.

_Alethea Bennett. Apprehended using Body-Bind Curse and Stinging Jinx on Stephen Willoughby. Detention._

They were so frustrating, these cards, like looking at a picture of someone with the background taken out. Maybe he'd deserved it, maybe he didn't, but she had no way of knowing that without knowing the whole story.

She worked at that card a long time, tracing her mother's name slowly, gripping the quill so hard it broke. She flung it at the wall.

"I can't do this."

Snape's head shot up. "And just what is your problem, Miss Corlett?"

"I can't fill out these stupid cards anymore. I'm sick of them."

Snape's voice went softer, never a good sign. "I didn't realize you were craving less comfortable jobs. By all means, take one, I have an entire classroom full of cauldrons that need scouring."

His sarcasm only made the blood rush to her head. She knocked the cards of the table, scattering them everwhere.

"Miss Corlett!"

"So give me more detentions. I don't care." And without another look at him she stomped out of the room.

Sharp footsteps followed behind her like a scold, punctuated by the swish of his cloak.

"Miss Corlett!"

Something in his voice told her she'd better turn around.

For a moment they just stared each other down, Snape's face flushed with anger. Then something in his face slackened, and his eyes became cool and inscrutable again. "If you wish for another job," he said, and she could tell he was trying to keep his voice even. "You could assist me in preparing potion ingredients."

Graihagh couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Yeah," she said, trying to sound as though she hadn't just been terrified of him. "I would like that sir. Thank you."

Snape gestured towards his office and she followed him back inside, where he ran his long fingers along the jars on the shelf and pulled one down.

"Madam Pomfrey requested more Pepperup Potion. I would like you to slice these mandrake roots."

"Yes sir," said Graihagh. She took the jar for him and set it on the table, and they worked in silence for the rest of her detention, Snape throwing ingredients into the cauldron as she sliced and measured. By the time they were finished it had turned clear and filled the room with a peppery scent and Snape nodded down at the cauldron, apparently satisfied with it. He let Graihagh go then, and as she walked away she found wasn't dreading the next week's detention as much.


	32. Chapter 32

Solitude was Snape's solace and his prison. As much as he might enjoy it, as much as he might need it the way he needed air to breathe, it left him far too much time with his own thoughts, and it was a relief when the staff and students began to return, even when the they filled the castle with their noise and trouble.

Sometimes over the Christmas holiday, when he was sitting by the fire in his room, his thoughts would turn to Professor Sinistra, about what it would be like to spend an evening with her. They'd go up to the Astronomy Tower and look at the constellations perhaps, or go for a walk around the lake and make conversation. She'd have all kinds of interesting things to say, he was sure of that.

The first morning of the new term he washed and put on his teacher's robes and strode down the corridors to breakfast, taking his place at the staff table. Professor Sinistra was sitting a few seats down from him, dressed in forest green robes and chatting with Professor Vector. He scanned the house tables as he always did, eyes settling on a shock of bright red hair at the Gryffindor table. The younger Weasley boy had become something of a Quidditch celebrity, and Snape had far too much experience with those sorts to do anything but watch him closely for signs of trouble. He was chatting animatedly with his friends and after awhile Snape turned back to his sausages.

He had a free period after lunch, and after a morning full of having to endure his student's shoddy potion-making he looked forward pouring himself a cup of tea and sitting in front of the fire, but when he walked into the staff room it was to find a tall woman in green sitting in an old armchair. He didn't feel any excitement, any fluttering in his stomach or other such thing, but he liked that she looked up at him as he poured himself some tea and sat down. He hoped she'd somehow forgotten about Hagrid's party.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she greeted him, smiling a little.

"Hello, Professor Sinistra," he said, cringing inwardly at how stiff he sounded.

If she noticed, she didn't show it. "How was your holiday?"

There was warmth in her eyes and her voice, but it was that of a colleague, and he held himself rigidly, with his back straight, not quite relaxing.

"It was pleasant enough," he said, lying through his teeth and regretting it a little. "And yours?"

"I had a wonderful time. I haven't had many opportunities to see my family since I started here, you know, so it was good to spend time with them."

"I suppose it would be," said Snape, but it wasn't really something he could relate to, and he wasn't sure what to say about it. There was a silence, but it was a comfortable enough one, the fire crackling in front of them. She took a long sip of her tea.

"This is one of the perks of teaching at night," she said, holding up her cup a little. "I never did like getting up early." She looked over at him and gave him a smile, and he saw something in her eyes, a sort of mirth behind the intelligence, and yet he coudn't quite bring himself to smile as warmly as she did.

"I can't say I blame you," he said. "I'd much prefer to teach at night myself."

"How long have you been teaching then?"

"This is my fifth year."

She raised her eyebrows, looking impressed, which pleased him a little, and he was tempted to tell her that he had, in fact, been one of the youngest professors ever hired. But before he could, she said something completely unexpected.

"Did you always know you wanted to come back here and teach?"

He looked away from her a second, tapping his fingers on his tea mug, not really sure how to answer. "I suppose I did," he said quietly.

"How nice for you then, to be teaching here," she said, but he barely heard her, just nodded absently and stared back at the fire, those first twinges of discontentment hardening into agitation. He knew, now, that the whole thing had just been a distraction, an idle daydream. He could never tell her what had happened, what he had done, who he really was underneath. The whole idea was horrifying.

He took a long drink of his tea and they sat quietly until Professor Sinistra took one last long drink and set down her cup. "Well," she said, "I suppose I'd better mark some essays. It was good seeing you." She gave him one of her gracious smiles and left. He stayed and stared at the fire a long time.

He retired to his room right after dinner that night, but after he'd read through several chapters of his book he realized he couldn't remember a single word. He got up and started pacing the room but it seemed too small for him. Pulling his teacher's robes over his nightshirt, he left the room and made his way upstairs, not really giving much thought to where he was going.

He was walking through the Entrance Hall when he saw a flash of colour against the stone and he looked up to see Dumbledore, in a bright blue dressing gown embroidered with silver moons and constellations and a matching nightcap. He was reminded unpleasantly of Professor Sinistra, though he doubted she would walk around the castle wearing fuzzy slippers shaped like Puffskeins.

"This is a pleasant surprise, Severus," he said in a cheerful way. "I was just headed to the kitchens for a cup of hot chocolate. Why don't you join me?"

This sounded like a terrible idea to Snape but he went anyway, falling into step beside the Headmaster and they made their way down the basement steps and down the corridor, walking until they reached a painting of fruit. Dumbledore stopped to tickle a pear and Snape supposed this must be the entrance to the kitchens, though he'd never been there.

It was a large room, as large as the Great Hall above it, and brightly lit, with ovens along one wall and copper pots hanging from hooks and four long tables in the centre. Late as it was, the place was teeming with elves, who were wiping down dishes and tables and ovens. One of them came up to Dumbledore with a steaming mug and gave him a deep bow when he'd taken it. "Anything else I can gets for you sir?" he asked rather croakily.

"Thank you Pitts," said Dumbledore. "Would you be so kind as to get a mug for Professor Snape?" The elf hurried away and Dumbledore watched him a moment.

"Fascinating creatures, house-elves," he said, sounding positively delighted. "So simple at first glance, and yet I find them to be possessed of uniquely powerful magic."

Snape found them annoying and obsequious and said nothing.

Th elf had returned with another mug and Snape took it reluctantly, but those first sips warmed him a little. As he lowered the mug he thought he heard a noise behind him and he turned around he was surprised to see McGonagall, in a tartan dressing gown and hairnet, looking taken aback at having found them there.

"Another pleasant surprise," said Dumbledore. "What brings you here at this late hour, Minerva?" But his question was answered for him when an elf came bobbing over with a dish of what looked like an enormous three-layer chocolate cake drenched in caramel sauce. McGonagall murmured something to the elf and stood there with the dish in her hand, a bit red in the face.

Dumbledore looked at her a moment, and Snape thought the corners of his mouth twitched. "That looks simply delicious," he said. "Pitts, would you be so kind as to bring two more dishes of that?" McGonagall gave him a small smile and started eating.

The elf left and in a few minutes later had returned with two more dishes. The three of them ate in silence awhile, Dumbledore and Snape standing beside a work table where they'd set their hot chocolate.

"I'm surprised not to have run into you here before, Minerva, if you come here often enough for the elves to know your cake preferences," said Dumbledore after awhile.

"I don't come here every night, if that's what you think, Albus," McGonagall shot back in a dignified way, a bit of chocolate stuck to her left cheek.

"How often do you come here, if I might ask?"

McGonagall blushed again. "Two or three times a week." She'd said it rather grudgingly but the corners of her mouth had turned up a little.

Snape noticed the easy familiarity between the two of them and couldn't help but feel he was intruding on something, that he wasn't supposed to be there. He took a long drink of hot chocolate, perhaps a little too loudly, because McGonagall looked over at him as if just noticing him for the first time.

"I'm surprised to see you here Severus," she said, scooping up some caramel with her fork. There was quite a lot of chocolate around her mouth now. "What brings you here at this hour?"

He had no idea how to answer this, but Dumbledore spoke for him. "Oh, he's here for the same reason we are, Minerva." His tone was light but he was giving Snape one of his piercing looks, and it occured to Snape that it was no accident, really, that they had all wandered out of their beds at this hour.

Perhaps McGonagall understood too, because Snape thought she was giving him a rather scrutinizing look. But to his relief she turned back to her cake, eating the last few forkfuls. Dumbledore made a discreet motion towards his face and McGonagall hastily wiped the chocolate away with a handkerchief.

"Well," she said, setting her dish down, "I suppose I'd better be going. I have a N.E.W.T class to teach in the morning." But she made no motion to leave.

"How are your N.E.W.T students getting along?" Dumbledore asked her.

"I find them to be a dedicated group of students, for the most part." She looked over at Snape. "A few of your Slytherins have a pronounced aptitude for the subject."

Snape was pleased to hear it. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Our reputation for excellence didn't come out of nowhere."

"I suppose it doesn't hurt that your house has fewer scruples than the rest of the school," McGonagall shot back. Perhaps it was the vast quanitities of sugar he'd just eaten, or the fact that Slytherin had won the House Championship the last three out of four years, but he found her comment more amusing than annoying.

"I suppose it doesn't help that your house has the __lion's__ share of the troublemakers," he said. He could have sworn the corners of her mouth twitched a little.

"Ah well," Dumbledore spoke up, sounding amused, "we are all partial to our own houses, as much as we pretend not to be." He looked at Snape as he said this, knowing perfectly well that Snape never pretended to be anything but partial to his own house.

Dumbledore set down his dish. "Well, I suppose I ought to turn in myself, I have a full day of meetings tomorrow. Minerva, Severus," he said, nodding to each.

"Goodnight Albus," McGonagall said pleasantly, as Snape murmured, "Good night."

When Dumbledore had left, McGonagall flicked her wand and a bottle and two glasses appeared. "Care for some more Glendronach?"

All that sugar must have been going to Snape's head. He nearly smiled at this. "Certainly."

McGonagall poured them each a glass and raised her own. "To Hogwarts," she said. Snape murmured the same, and they each took a long drink.

They stood and chatted about their classes and their students awhile, until McGonagall started to get red in the face.

"So how has the new term been really?" she said. "You don't have to hold anything back from me."

"Awful," said Snape. "Three different students melted their cauldron's today, and one of them exploded."

"You should see some of the nonsense they get up to in my class. Just today one of the students thought he'd be clever and try to Vanish all the essays when I wasn't looking."

"I hope you gave him a week's worth of detentions."

"Just one, but I docked off twenty house points."

Snape raised an eyebrow at her over his glass. "I hope it wasn't a Slytherin."

McGonagall gave him a wry smile. "It was Hufflepuff, actually."

"I don't suppose it really matters then, it's not like they're ever going to win the House cup anyway."

McGonagall snorted. "Load of numpties," she said, and Snape's mouth twitched. "Speaking of Houses," said McGonagall, "How do you find being Head of House?"

"Also awful."

McGonagall smiled again. "Have any of your students come in for the talk?"

Snape just stared at her until the comprehension spread through him like some horrifying slow-acting venom. "You mean...?"

"You'd be surprised at how many students come here not knowing a thing. And the Ministry pamphlets are useless, I had Madam Pomfrey make her own." She gave him a sharp look. "I could give you some if you'd like."

"I suppose," said Snape.

They each took a deep drink. "How about some more of that cake?" said McGonagall.

Snape nodded, and they ate and drank until Snape was light-headed. Sweet Merlin that was some good cake.

"You know," said McGonagall, her voice loose and husky and her accent rather thicker, "You always were one of my brightest students." She looked at him a long time, and Snape thought her eyes were getting bright. "I'm glad you came back here to teach."

Snape felt warm all over and before he knew what was happening the words were just flowing out of his mouth. "You were my favourite teacher."

"Was I?" McGonagall looked at him so long Snape was terrified she was going to hug him. He backed away a little.

Whether it was because she took the hint or because she wasn't drunk enough yet to betray her usual dignity, she kept her arms at her sides.

"Well," she said, setting down her cake dish and wiping her mouth on her sleeve, "We should do this again Severus."

She gave him another long look and turned to leave.

"Minerva."

She turned to face him.

"Don't tell anybody about this."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "I won't. Goodnight, Severus."

Snape finished his cake and walked back to his room, nearly losing his balance on the way and wondering just how many embarrassing anecdotes the staff would have to blackmail him with.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was standing in front of the blackboard, droning on about something, Graihagh didn't really know what. Transfiguration had never been her best subject, and her head was too full of powerful spells and plans she and Thorfinn and Milo made to pay any attention. She scooped up the mouse in her hand and held it in front of her face, stroking its back with the tip of her thumb.

"...and so the Vanishment of verterbrates presents a much greater challenge than that of invertebrates. Now, if we use the following formula," McGonagall was saying, flicking her wand at the blackboard where some writing appeared, "taking into account the complexity of the-Miss Corlett, will you stop playing with that mouse and pay attention?"

A few people laughed. Graihagh looked up and felt McGonagall's razor-sharp gaze jabbing into her.

"Sorry," she muttered, setting the mouse down and trying to act like she was listening. She took a few slapdash notes, and as soon as the bell rang she stuffed her things into her bag and went to lunch.

Thorfinn and Milo caught her eye, and as soon as she was done eating she followed them to an empty classroom deep in the dungeons, the one they usually practiced in. She knew Snape would probably still be eating, and there were no prefects roaming the dungeons over the lunch hour.

"I thought we'd work on these some more," said Thorfinn, holding up the old book full of curses. He gave Graihagh a sideways look. "If you don't have a problem with it."

She looked straight back at him. "I don't. But isn't this a bit risky?"

Thorfinn flicked his wand at the door. "There. I've put an Imperturbable Charm on it, happy?"

Graihagh nodded, and Thorfinn looked at Milo, who transfigured some quills and turned them into grasshoppers again. His face was set, serious, but Graihagh thought she saw something in his eyes, like he was remembering something he didn't want to.

"I thought we'd start with the Cruciatus Curse again," said Thorfinn, looking straight at Graihagh, trying to get a rise out of her, she knew.

He raised his wand and pointed it at the grasshopper. __"Crucio!"__

Graihagh couldn't look at it. She stared at the opposite wall, where there was a trickle of water coming from somewhere and moss growing on the dark stone walls. She remembered the waterfall at Dhoon Glen, and how when she was seven she slipped on one of the rocks and broke her wrist. The pain was so bad she nearly passed out.

Milo tapped her arm. "Want to have a go?"

Graihagh lifted her wand, hand shaking, then lowered it again. "Do we really need to learn this?"

Thorfinn let out an impatient huff of air but Milo's voice was earnest, reassuring. "Like my dad said, the Ministry used it all the time during the war. It probably saved some of their lives."

Graihagh lifted her wand again.

"Just close your eyes," said Milo. "Imagine a deadly enemy or something. That always works for me."

Graihagh squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the reluctant words out of her mouth through sheer force of will. "__Crucio!__"

She knew it had worked because Thorfinn was laughing. She opened her eyes and shoved her wand back in her pocket and sat down, breathing hard.

"Aren't you going to have another go?" said Thorfinn.

"No."

He opened his mouth to say something, but Milo cut him off. "Just leave her alone."

Graihagh gave him a grateful look. He hardly ever spoke that way to Thorfinn, or anyone.

They practiced awhile longer, then stowed their wands back in their pockets. Graihagh was tense and shaky and yet some small part of her was thrumming with the power of her spells. She didn't feel invincible, exactly, but something close to it. Like she could take on just about anyone.

"I was thinking," said Milo, hand still in his pocket. "I'd like a safer place to keep this-" He pulled the box they'd found in London partway out so the top was showing. "I can't really carry it with me all the time and I don't like just leaving it in my trunk."

"I know a place," said Thorfinn. "Up on the seventh floor. I'll show you."

They followed him to the Entrance Hall and up marble staircase, until they reached an empty stretch of a seventh-floor corridor, bare except for an absurd tapestry along one wall.

"You walk past it three times, and it'll turn into whatever you need," said Thorfinn. He smirked at them. "So if you two ever need a bit of privacy-"

"Just shut up and show us the room Thorfinn," said Graihagh. Milo shot her a small smile and Thorfinn started walking.

Just as he'd said, after his third walk past a small door appeared in the stone wall. Thorfinn pulled it open for them.

Graihagh's mouth opened a little as she stared up at the high ceilings filled with things she'd never even imagined, but what struck her was the profound __stillness__ of the place, as deep and high as the room itself, as though all the things inside it were holding their breath, watching them.

"This is mighty," she whispered.

Thorfinn gave her a bemused look. "What?"

"Just something we say back in Mann. Brilliant, to you."

"Yeah, well. I've had to hide a few things in here. I don't think many people know about it, so you should be alright."

Milo began to walk among the rows of objects, sometimes stopping to examine an empty shelf or a box, looking, she knew, for a place where it would be well-hidden but easy enough to remember.

Graihagh stopped to examine a bottle of greenish gold potion, and she'd just set it down when she saw the mirror.

She gasped out loud. Her reflection was there, standing beside her dad and her granny, something gold clutched in her hand, but there was someone else with them, the same dark-haired woman who'd come out of the cupboard all those years ago. She was as tall as Graihagh was, with the same thin face, and she was dressed in a smart-looking suit and had an arm around her. Graihagh stepped closer and saw that the gold thing she was clutching was an Order of Merlin, but she couldn't stop looking at her mother and she didn't know why. She hated her.

"Graihagh?"

Graihagh whipped around and saw Milo standing there. "We'd better get going, we're probably late for class."

Graihagh followed him without another look at her mother, but she couldn't focus on a thing Professor Flitwick was saying, and left for break without having taken any notes. All she could think about was that stupid mirror. She didn't understand why she kept seeing these things.

"That girl you hang round with," said Thorfinn, as they walked out into the courtyard, cutting across Graihagh's thoughts. "Is she a Mudblood?"

Graihagh bristled. She wasn't about to let anyone criticize Cate. "Don't you dare call her that. And I don't see how it's any of your business."

"It is my business. You know you can't trust them."

"You thought I was Muggle-born for awhile."

"Yeah, but you're not, are you?"

Graihagh didn't know what to say to this. She glanced at Milo, thinking maybe he'd back her up, but he had his hands in his pockets and wasn't looking at her. "Maybe he's got a point," he said. "You know all the horrible things they did to us."

Graihagh knew he was remembering the books they'd read over the summer. "I know, but that was a long time ago wasn't it? Cate's different."

"How do you know?" said Thorfinn.

"Because she just is. Now will you drop it please?" She glanced at Milo, hoping maybe say something, but he just stared ahead and Graihagh's stomach dropped. He was standing right in front of her but he seemed as far away as if she were looking at him through the wrong end of a telescope. As though if she reached out and touched them he wouldn't be there.

"I don't think you should spend so much time with her," said Thorfinn.

Graihagh didn't say anything to this, just kept walking and watching Milo, wondering what to say. They'd just met up with a few of their other friends when someone slammed into Milo's shoulder as he walked past.

"Sorry, didn't see you," he said, but his smirk told Graihagh he knew perfectly well what he'd just done. Milo flushed red.

Everything she'd been holding in that day came rushing out of her like a broken sea wall and her face burned hot and she pulled her wand out of her robes. "__Petrificus Totalus!"__

The boy fell to the ground and Graihagh stood over him, her shadow over his face. She could do whatever she wanted to him now. "Don't you ever touch him again. __Pungent!"__

The boy cried out as he clutched at his swollen face.

"What is going on here?"

Graihagh looked up to see Theodora Marchbanks striding towards her, a prefect badge on her chest. She looked down at the boy and back at Graihagh with wide indignant eyes. "Did you just using a stinging hex?"

Graihagh lowered her wand, breathing hard, and Theodora's eyes darkened. "Ten points from Slytherin. And be grateful I don't tell Professor Snape about this."

"He'd probably just tell you to mind your own fucking business," Graihagh shot back. "But you just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Graihagh!"

Graihagh turned away from Theodora's face to see Cate standing there, mouth open in shock. Graihagh glanced back at the boy, who was being helped to his feet by Theodora, and back at Cate, and her eyes shocked her back into reality as realization of what she'd done crashed over her. She wished the courtyard would open up and swallow her. She walked into the grounds and slumped down against a large stone, head in her hands, breathing hard, Cate following behind her.

"I didn't mean that. I didn't mean any of that. You believe me, don't you?"

Cate didn't say anything to this for awhile, and Graihagh wondered if she was going to walk away.

"I believe you," she said as she sat down beside her. "I mean, you were a massive twat back there but I don't think that's really who you are."

Graihagh drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on her arms. "I don't know who I really am."

Cate put a hand to her shoulder and when Graihagh turned to look at her Cate was looking her straight in the eye.

"I know who you are."

She looked so sure of what she was saying. Graihagh just stared back at her.

The bell rang and Graihagh straightened out her legs and started to push herself up, but Cate put a hand to her shoulder. "Want to stay here with me?"

"Don't you have class?"

"It's just Transfiguration, and I haven't got a clue what McGonagall is on about anymore," she said. Graihagh gave a little half-smile at this.

"And it's not like we're ever going to use it, you know?" Cate went on, relieved, Graihagh knew, that she'd brightened some. "I mean, does anyone seriously look at their pet ferret and say, yeah, well, he's cute but I really need a pocketbook, so..."

"Or look at their kitten and decide to Vanish it."

"I still think that's messed up. McGonagall said we're going to start Vanishing kittens soon, I think I'm just going to make myself sick so I don't have to go." She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a bag of Every-Flavour Beans. "Want some?"

Graihagh sifted through the sweets with her fingers, careful to avoid any nasty-looking ones.

They chewed in silence awhile, wrapping their cloaks more tightly to avoid the icy wind and pressing their hands together to warm them.

"We're going to have to do career consultations soon," said Cate through a mouthful of beans. "Do you know what you're going to pick?"

"Potioneering, probably. What about you?"

Cate put her hands underneath her and rocked back and forth a little, probably not aware that she was doing it. "Well, I don't think I'm good enough to be an actual musician or anything. But I want to do something with music. Flitwick said once that it has its own healing magic."

"That makes sense," said Graihagh, remembering a beautiful old sea invocation she'd heard once, a song to Manannan, the guardian of the sea, to keep the men safe when they went out to the fishing. There was magic in that song, she'd felt it.

"You'd be great at it you know," she said, but she wasn't sure Cate heard her. She was holding a bean up in front of her eyes and examining it like it was a specimen in Herbology.

"I wonder how they get all those flavours so accurate," she murmured. She popped it into her mouth and looked at her closely. "So how are you, really? You don't have to hide anything from me."

"I don't know."

"So not good then?"

Graihagh glanced at her, then looked out across the grounds. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

"How long have you known me now? Do you even have to ask?"

Graihagh let out a little self-deprecating breath, because of course she didn't. She stared out over the grounds, and Cate waited for her to speak.

"My mum was a heroin addict. That's why she left."

Cate looked shocked. "But she was a witch, wasn't she? So how did that happen?"

"I don't know."

Cate put a hand to her back. "I'm sorry."

Graihagh shrugged. "I think she was sort of awful, if you want the truth."

"What do you mean?"

Graihagh glanced down and played with the folds of her robes. "I've been finding records of her punishments during my detentions. She used to hex people all the time and..."

"What? What's wrong?"

The realization slammed into her like she'd walked into a solid wall. __She'd just used the same fucking hexes.__ Like they'd been lurking in her subconscious just waiting to fly out of her mouth.

"Nothing."

Cate put an arm around her. "You're not her though, you know that."

"Yeah, I know," said Graihagh.

But she didn't really believe it.

* * *

**A/N: **All opinions expressed by the characters are their own and don't reflect the views of the author, who loves Hufflepuff and does not think they're a load of numpties :)


	33. Chapter 33

The dungeon was still dark when Snape woke up, and he could hear the distant swishing of lake water. He must've been back in his dormitory with his friends. He'd go back to sleep and when he woke up he'd meet Lily in the Great Hall for breakfast maybe, and they'd go for a walk in the grounds.

He rolled over onto his other side but his chest was tight and he couldn't keep his eyes closed. He looked across the room and there were no beds there, no breathing boys. The room was empty.

He stared at the ceiling and a vision of all the coming years flew down at him and he was alone, always alone. A thrill of panic spread through his chest into his arms and he sat up in bed, breathing fast.

He needed something, anything, to escape his own mind. He Summoned a book from the shelf and sat in front of the fire, but he couldn't remember any of the words. He just sat and stared into the flames.

He must've nodded off, because suddenly there was light the lake water outside his window and the book had slipped from his fingers onto the floor. He got up and went to breakfast, watching the staff closely for any signs that any of them knew what day it was. He'd curse anyone who tried to throw him a party, even McGonagall or Sprout, and yet some small strange part of him wanted some tiny acknowledgement of his existence, even something as simple as "happy birthday." But he brushed it aside for the ridiculous sentiment it was.

He'd hardly ever gotten anything for his birthday growing up, it was too soon after Christmas and there was never enough money. His mother would come up to his room in the morning and wish him a happy birthday and even his father might have a few nice words for him when he came downstairs for breakfast, but more often than not something would set him off and he'd erase any kindness with his shouting and name-calling and his mother would get furious at him for it and a row would broke and Snape would run up to his room, to escape into his books. Hogwarts was a relief, at least at first.

He'd told Lily about his birthday one day as they were sitting on the swings together. She always had something for him, sweets from the corner shop or a funny card she'd made, and he'd feel like an ordinary boy but in the best possible way, because he knew he mattered to someone, that someone cared about him enough to think the day special. He'd saved every single thing she'd given him, even the sweet wrappers, faded and creased and still smelling faintly of chocolate, or maybe he just wanted them to be. He kept them in his bedside drawer.

Snape poured salt over his eggs and Sprout and Flitwick greeted him warmly as they always did. McGonagall nodded and smiled just slightly, and he half-listened to their small talk before standing up and making his way to the classroom to get a few things ready for the first years he had to teach that morning.

He drifted though his classes that day with his head somewhere else, and he was relieved when they were done and he could just go sit in his office.

He'd just sat down and cracked open a book when there was a knock at the door. "Enter," he said, without looking up.

"I was wondering if I could talk to you, Professor," said a girl's voice, one of his fifth-years. Snape's stomach clenched. Those words had never been followed by a conversation he remotely wanted to have.

"Take a seat Miss Yaxley," he said.

He could tell by the way the girl was sitting at the edge of her seat and twisting her hands in her lap that she was dreading the conversation as much as he was. Maybe even more.

"Well? What is it?" said Snape after an eternity of cringe-inducing silence.

"Well, it's just…my boyfriend said it's safe to do...certain things, if we only do them once a month and my friends said that's not true and I have no idea what to think and I'm not really sure who to ask because my boyfriend is a half-blood and my parents will kill me if they find out we're going together."

She said all this in a big rush and started twisting her hands again, face flushed. After a few seconds ringing silence the reality crashed down on him like a falling piano in one of those Muggle cartoons and it was though all the air was being sucked out of the room. This went way beyond the usual personal advice. Happy fucking birthday.

"Yes, well," he said, playing for time. Then he realized he still didn't have a bloody clue what to say. All those things he learned about sex existed somewhere so far in the back of his mind he couldn't remember them if he tried.

He reached into his desk until he found the stack of pamphlets McGonagall had given him. The covers were some garish magenta with two silhouettes locked in embrace that made his face grow hot and he took one and thrust it at her. "Here," he said. "Read this. It should tell you everything you need to know." _Don't come back here and ask me, _in other words.

The girl looked down at it, blushing harder than ever. "Oh," she said, reading the title. Her eyes widened a little in understanding. "Oh. Right. Erm, thank you sir." Without another look at him she stood up and hurried away.

He sighed with relief but his face was still hot and he tried to distract himself with a book. He was just about to find out who'd done it when there was another knock at the door.

"Can't get one bloody second of peace," he snarled as he set his book down. He took a deep breath to make his voice even. "Enter."

"I was wondering if I could speak with you, Professor," he said.

Snape cringed inwardly at the sound of Professor Chumley's gratingly pleasant voice. "What is it?"

"Well, I have concerns about some of your fifth-years," said Chumley.

The fifth-years. It was always the bloody fifth-years. If he'd had his way they'd all be rounded up and shipped to Antarctica.

"Well, the truth is I'm a bit disturbed about some of the things Mr. Selwyn and Miss Corlett have been writing in their essays." Chumley went on. He was playing his handkerchief between his fingers and sounded almost apologetic.

Snape sat up straighter; it was almost as though he'd been waiting to hear something like this. "What kinds of things?"

"Well, we've been discussing Unforgiveable Curses in class and they seem to be of the belief that they should be legalized and used more often. And they seem...rather too familiar with the effects."

Snape remembered sneaking off into the dungeons to practice Unforgiveable curses with Avery and Regulus and Mulciber and the back of his neck prickled.

"And Mr. Selwyn seems….well he seems rather troubled, if you ask me. His marks have been slipping all year. I can scarcely read his handwriting at times."

Snape opened a drawer and flicked through the files until he found the Selwyn boy's name, and as his eyes scanned his mid-year report and it was immediately apparent that his DADA marks weren't the only ones slipping. He was barely scraping by in Astronomy and Ancient Runes. He wasn't even getting decent marks in art. A glance at the girl's file told the same story, only it was Transfiguration and Charms she was struggling with.

"I thank you for bringing this to my attention, Professor," said Snape, his voice cool but his words sincere. Perhaps the man wasn't as foolish as he looked.

Chumley nodded and Snape shifted in his chair, but to his dismay the man didn't take the hint and just stood there leaning forwards slightly as though waiting for Snape to make small talk or some such nonsense.

"If you don't mind, Professor, I'm rather busy at the moment," said Snape, making no effort to hide the fact that he was busy reading a mystery novel to get out of socializing.

"Oh," said Chumley, shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket and rocking back on his heels a little. "Of course. Perhaps I'll see you in the staff room later?"

"Perhaps," said Snape, in a tone that suggested that it wasn't very likely.

When Chumley left Snape sank back into his chair again and pulled the bookmark out of the page. He'd just found the place he'd left off when there was yet another knock on the door and by now he was finding it impossible to keep his irritation in.

"What is it?" he snapped, slamming his book on the desk.

Someone opened the door a crack and Snape was dismayed to see it was the Corlett girl. This could only mean trouble.

"Erm, I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" she said, sounding much more hesitant than usual.

"No," he said, his tone making it perfectly clear it was. She walked in anyway. Her forehead was creased and she was wringing her hands a little.

"Well it's just...there's this room on the seventh floor...and I can't get Milo to leave."

This seemed strange to Snape. "How long has he been there?"

"Since last night. He hasn't eaten or anything."

The boy was going to waste away in there. Snape stood up. "Show me this room."

The girl took the corridors at almost a run, and Snape had to lengthen his strides to keep up. When they reached the seventh-floor corridor the girl stopped in front of a blank stretch of wall and Snape knew exactly what was happening. _That fucking mirror._

He turned to the girl. "How did you find this room?"

The girl glanced away from him. "We were just walking through here and the door appeared," she said, in a voice so casual he couldn't help but credit her with being a decent liar.

He knew perfectly well they were up to something in this room, but he'd have to deal with that later. He needed to talk some sense into Selwyn before he fainted from lack of food or drove himself mad.

The girl walked past the wall three times, avoiding his eyes, because she must've known how unlikely it was that she just happened to be walking back and forth down this particular stretch of corridor. Just as it had at Christmas a few years before, a small wooden door appeared and Snape yanked it open, heart beating fast, because he knew what was waiting for him on the other side.

The room was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, shelf after shelf reaching for a ceiling that didn't seem to end. The last time he'd been in there it was nothing but bare walls and the mirror and the small table full of food. It must've been part of the magic of this room, that it could change its function.

Selwyn was at the far end of the room, sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror. Snape followed behind the girl, who came up behind him and put a hand to his shoulder.

"Milo?

The boy just stared straight ahead, no sign at all that he'd heard her.

Snape cleared his throat but still the boy just sat there. "Mr. Selwyn," he said, in a commanding voice. The boy jerked his head towards him with blank startled eyes that barely seemed to see him. He glanced at the girl, then scowled and turned back to the mirror.

Snape could've grabbed his arm and jerked him away, but he didn't. He understood far too much of what the boy was feeling. Instead he sat down next to him.

"What do you see?" he said to the boy.

He turned his head towards him but didn't say anything and at first Snape didn't think he was going to answer.

"I see my parents," he said after awhile. "And my grandfather."

Snape knew the boy's parents were still alive, but he also knew something of what they were like, and he thought he understood.

"Did your grandfather..."

"Yeah," said Selwyn. "When I was ten."

Snape glanced at the mirror, everything inside him screaming to look at it head on and stay there forever with the boy, but he angled his body so that he couldn't see into it.

Inexplicably he found himself thinking of Dumbledore, of what he would say if he were there. Something vague and nonsensical most likely. He'd have to do things his own way.

"Those images...they aren't real."

"I don't care."

They sat in silence awhile. "I see things in it too," said Snape. "But it does no good to linger on them."

The boy said nothing to this. There was no getting through to him. Snape knew, because the mirror was doing to Selwyn what it did to him, and for better or worse Snape was no Dumbledore.

And his rage washed over him and before he had time to think about what Dumbledore would say he stood up and seized the mirror with both hands, knocking it to the ground so hard the metal crashed against the stone and the metallic ring echoed through the room in a strange musical aftershock. But the silence when it had died out was somehow even louder. The girl started and the boy turned to stare at him.

"What'd you do that for?"

"Come," said Snape, with a glance at the mirror, which fortunately hadn't shattered. Part of its magic, most likely. "You need to leave now."

"Milo," said a softer voice from behind them. "Please. You need to eat."

The Corlett girl put her hand to his arm and with one last long look back at the fallen mirror Selwyn followed her out of the room, into the corridor, Snape following behind them.

The Corlett girl turned to Snape. "Thank you sir-"

"Listen to me," said Snape, cutting her off, voice raised. "You two are not to go back into that room, do you understand?"

The girl glanced at the boy in a way that told Snape they hadn't just found the place by accident. "Yes sir," she said, in a would-be earnest sort of voice that told Snape she'd probably break her word at the soonest opportunity.

"If I find out you've been in there there will be consequences, do I make myself plain?"

The girl glanced at the boy again. "Yes sir," she said.

Snape turned to the boy. "Go to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will get you something to eat and a sleeping draught if you need it."

Selwyn nodded, and he and the Corlett girl walked away down the corridor. Snape followed some distance behind, until he saw them enter the hospital wing, then walked back down to his office.

He tried to distract himself by planning a lesson for his sixth-year N.E.W.T students, using the improved recipes from his old copy _Advanced Potion-Making _ because he knew most of them weren't remotely clever enough to come up with them on their own. When he was finished he flipped through it, something he liked to do occasionally.

Magic was like gravity, felt but unseen, something no one really understood. Snape imagined a force as vast as the outermost reaches of the universe and as small as the atoms in his own body, a force that flowed through his veins waiting to be called forth, to be channeled into something potent, something under his control. He used to get so lost in his work of inventing spells that sometimes he'd stay up all night in front of the common room fire and fall asleep in class the next day.

He'd buried all his feelings the summer he lost Lily, all his rage and humiliation and shame, locked them away inside himself until he was numb. At night when it was quiet he'd just lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, not feeling anything.

And then one night they came rushing out of him like a broken levee. He stood up, paced the room, the spell breaking over the surface of his mind from somewhere deep inside him, his rage giving it strength, giving it substance, taking that unknown force around him and turning into something real, something that could cut open his own skin. Anger turned magic.

_Sectumsempra. _

_For enemies._

Snape stared down at those words and It was like seeing his sixteen-year-old self. He used to imagine that in ten years he'd be someone powerful, someone important, a man Lily would be proud of. He thought his spells could get him that, and maybe they could have, if things had been different, he didn't know. He didn't need to wonder what his sixteen-year-old self would think of what his life had become now, about the things he'd done. About what his own spell had done. About the man whose face he still saw in his dreams.

The Selwyn boy and the Corlett girl were the same age he'd been when he invented that spell. They were at a crossroads, just like he'd been.

He put the book back into his desk drawer and flicked his wand to put the fire out. All he wanted was to sink down in front of the fire and not think.

He didn't see the packages at the foot of his bed until he'd sat down and taken off his boots. Snape stared at them, not believing. He reached out and ran his hands along the crinkled brown paper.

There was a clumsily wrapped package tied with twine that he was sure was from Hagrid, and he opened it to find jars full of pelican feathers and eel's eyes and unicorn tail hair to use in his potions.

When he'd opened the rest he had a handsome leather-clad lesson planner from Flitwick, a glass paperweight enchanted to show the Milky Way from Sinistra, a dittany plant from Sprout, a copy of Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_ from Dumbledore, and a bottle of Scotch from Minerva, with a note attached.

_I hope you're not planning to drink this alone._

_-Minerva_

He did his best to keep his face straight and hold in what he was feeling, but it came out anyway.

* * *

"And so," Professor Chumley said as he stood in front of the class, "the authorisation of Unforgiveable Curses during the Wizarding War remains a controversial subject. Now-yes Miss Corlett?"

"Why is that, though, Professor?" said Graihagh. "I mean, supposedly You Know Who was the most evil wizard of all time, right? So why not use any means to fight him?"

For a moment he just stood there looking startled; it was obvious he hadn't been expecting questions.

"Well," he began slowly, "there are some who think that it made us just as bad as what we were fighting. Take my old head of department, Barty Crouch-some said he got to be as bad as the other side. Never was very popular after that."

She'd been half-hoping he could come up with a good answer, but this didn't convince her at all. "Well, I don't see why not," she shot back. "It worked, didn't it?"

Mr. Chumley looked flustered; his face was a little red.

"Yes-well-there's still debate about that, as I've said..." His voice trailed off. "Anyway," he continued, more briskly, "for your homework, I would like twelve inches of parchment on the effects of the Imperius Curse, to be handed in next week." His manner relaxed and he smiled at them all. "Excellent lesson, everyone! See you on Friday." He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and sat down at his desk as they began to put their things away. Graihagh was just slinging her bag over her shoulder when he called her name.

Graihagh tensed as she walked over to his desk, but she kept her face smooth, innocent-looking. Tried to anyway.

"I was very interested in your essay on the Cruciatus Curse," said Professor Chumley. "About how it ought to be legalized. "

Graihagh wondered what she was getting at. She'd put a lot of work into that essay. More than she usually did, anyway. "Oh yeah. Well, I just think, Professor, that in some situations you have to do whatever it takes to get things done," she said, trying to keep her voice casual. "I mean, if you have a really powerful spell, it seems sort of foolish not to use it, doesn't it?"

"An understandable position to take," he said slowly. "But do you think anyone really deserves that? Unendurable pain?"

Graihagh looked away again, trying to find the right words. "Well," she said slowly, "what if there was a situation where you had to? To save the world or something?"

"Well," he said, putting a hand to his face and looking serious. "I don't know." There was a moment's silence. "I think the important thing is though, to make sure that whatever magic we do use, we're using it for good."

"I am using it for good," said Graihagh. She didn't know what he was playing at, suggesting she wasn't.

She thought Chumley was looking at her sort of closely. "Well," he said. "I hope so, Miss Corlett."

He gave her another long look. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?" he said. "Anything troubling you?"

His eyes were so earnest, so open, that for just a second she wanted to tell him everything. She looked back at him, the words close to coming out.

"No," she said finally. "Everything's fine. I've just been really busy lately."

"Ah yes, I see, of course," he said. "O.W.L revision, and all that." He straightened up and reached for his briefcase. "Well, if there's anything you need to discuss, my office is open."

"Thank you Professor," said Graihagh, knowing she probably wouldn't.

He nodded and snapped his briefcase shut, and Graihagh adjusted the strap on her bag and headed to the dungeon to drop off her things before dinner.

She thought Milo would ask what had happened when she sat down next to him in the Great Hall, but he didn't. He was just staring down at his food.

"You alright?" she said.

Milo's forehead creased and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Neither of them had said a word about what had happened with the mirror the week before, and Graihagh knew he just wanted to be left alone. "Don't know," she said.

Thorfinn looked over at Milo. "Want to have a go on your broom after dinner?"

Milo speared a piece of his lamb chop. "Yeah, that'd be alright." He glanced at Graihagh. "You want to come watch?"

"Sure," said Graihagh, relieved he wasn't annoyed with her.

As soon as they were finished she and Milo and Thorfinn headed down to the Quidditch pitch. The sky was dark but the moon was bright and there was enough light for flying. Livia was already there, sitting in the stands, broomstick propped against a wooden post.

"You're not flying?" said Graihagh, sitting down beside her.

"No," said Livia.

Her voice was flat and Graihagh wasn't sure what to say. She sometimes sat with Livia and her friends during meals and hung round with them in the common room or the dormitories, but she didn't really know any of them that well. Sometimes they'd use words she didn't know, talk about traditions she'd never taken part in, places she'd never even heard of. They were always traveling somewhere, it seemed.

But they were fun at times, and she liked those nights together talking in the common room or the dormitory, or walking in a big pack down the corridors. They didn't even say anything about the robes she'd bought last year even though they were out of style already. Graihagh's dad had found another job but she had the feeling he wasn't getting paid as much and didn't want to ask for money for new ones.

Livia stared out at the pitch and Graihagh looked down at her sleeves. The edges were becoming frayed and she tried to cover them up by crossing her arms, but she didn't think Livia even noticed. Her eyes were someplace far away. Graihagh noticed that about her, the way she'd go quiet sometimes, even when everyone else was having a good time.

Graihagh glanced at her. "Everything alright?"

Livia played the folds her her robes in her gloved hands. "It's just...sometimes people see you a certain way your whole life, and it gets to a point where you don't know how much is you and how much is what everyone expects of you. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so," said Graihagh, thinking of how all her teachers had written her off as useless. She wondered if Livia was thinking of her father.

"My mother's been after me to go into the Ministry," said Livia.

"Do you want to?"

"Not really." She stared straight ahead, watching Thorfinn block an attempted goal. "They want me to, you know." She turned and gave Graihagh a significant look, but Graihagh just raised an eyebrow slightly, not sure what she was getting at.

"Follow in my father's footsteps."

Graihagh opened her mouth and closed it again before she could ask if they meant joining a cult and killing people. "Did your father work in the Ministry?"

"Yeah."

There was a heavy silence and Livia shot her a furtive glance, as though wondering how much she knew. But Graihagh didn't say anything.

"So have you gone to any Bats matches yet? You support them, right?" said Livia into the silence, in a would-be casual voice.

"Oh yeah," said Graihagh, trying to sound as casual as Livia did, even though she was all fluttery and all she could think about was how close they were sitting and whether she was saying the right things and if any of her dinner was stuck in her teeth. "Not yet. Milo might get us tickets next summer. Or, you know, if you wanted to go..."

Graihagh was trying to sound offhand, but her voice had gone an octave higher and her face was burning and she knew she was being completely obvious. She thought Livia was smirking slightly.

"Yeah probably not, the Bats are pants," she said.

She knew. She knew and she'd flat-out turned her down. Graihagh didn't say anything to this and they sat in awkward silence until Thorfinn and Milo dismounted, wiping their sweaty faces on the sleeves of their robes.

"You flew really well," said Graihagh, as she fell in step besides Milo.

He just shrugged, but he had that look of tired contentment he always got after a hard training session, and she thought he might cheer up a bit once they got to the common room.

"_Flipendo!" _

Milo was knocked to the cold ground.

Graihagh whipped around to see McCulloch and Fenwick approaching, looking scared but determined, wands raised. She stood in front of them and raised her own, heart thundering in her head. She wasn't going to watch him get hurt again. Not this time.

"Don't you touch him!" she screamed. "Don't you dare touch him or I swear I will hex the shit out of you! You..." she wracked her brains for the sharpest, most jagged words, and they were there, right on the edge of her tongue as she looked at McCulloch's Muggle coat. "You fucking little Mudblood."

McCulloch's face hardened into a scowl. "You watch your filthy little mouth," he hissed. He lifted his wand.

"Let me do it," said Milo as he stood up. Thorfinn was standing beside him with his wand raised and Graihagh supposed he'd lifted the spell on him.

Milo shouted the incantation just before the jet of light hit him. "_Protego!" _The force of his spell nearly knocked them backwards, and Milo raised his wand again, pointing it directly at McCulloch's face. Thorfinn did the same, and they bellowed their incantations at the same time. "_Conjuctiva!_"

McCulloch and Fenwick slumped to the ground clutching their swollen eyes.

"_Petrificus Totalus!" _bellowed Milo, and McCulloch went rigid.

Graihagh just stared at them, breathing hard, head spinning, not really thinking, just listening to the blood rushing in her head.

"Should we put them right?" she said, when she could speak again.

Milo stared down at them, the lines on his forehead as hard as though they'd been sculpted. "No," he said flatly. "They deserve it."

"Alright then," she breathed. Venting all that anger had left her deflated, wrung out. The grounds were deserted and she wasn't sure if anyone would find them before the spells wore off, but after a second's hesitation she gave them one last look and walked back to the castle with Milo.

Cate bounced down the staircase carrying a stack of books. "Alright?," she said brightly, looking at Graihagh. "I got sick of studying, you want to go someplace and talk?"

Cate's eyes were like a punch to the face and the word rang in her head like an infinite echo. _Mudblood._ She'd just called someone a Mudblood. "I-yeah, actually...I promised someone I'd help them with an essay."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow then."

Graihagh just gave a feeble nod and waited until Cate had gone down the basement steps before rushing back out into the grounds.

McCulloch was still stiff on the ground, and Fenwick was swearing and trying to see his wand through his swollen eyes.

Graihagh lifted her own. "_Finite,_" she muttered. She did the same to McCulloch, who stood up, rubbing the back of his head.

He glared at her. "You?"

Graihagh glared right back. "Just shut up," she said. "And don't you dare hex me again," she added, raising her wand.

He stared at her so long she thought he would, but finally he lowered his wand and stowed it back into his pocket. Graihagh turned and walked back to the castle without another word to them.

She didn't know how long she slept the next morning, but the dormitory was empty when she woke up. She pulled the covers over herself and stayed in bed, for how long, she didn't know. It was only when she was too hungry to lay there anymore that she got up and made her way to the Entrance Hall, not bothering to brush her hair or change into new robes. She missed breakfast, but she wasn't really hungry anyway, so it didn't matter.

She'd also missed her first class and was so distracted during potions she forgot to add powdered Griffin claw to her Strengthening Solution even though she'd made it dozens of times before and it just sat there in her cauldron like a lump of sour milk.

Snape made a small noise as he passed her cauldron. She wasn't looking at him but she thought he was smirking and she was so embarassed she wanted to sink under her desk and stay there until he left.

She drifted through the rest of her classes and ate her dinner quickly before going back to the common room to get some revision in before her detention with Snape. But the words were swimming in front of her eyes and she couldn't get them into focus and after a couple of hours of pointless half-reading she closed her book shut and went to Snape's office.

"We'll be preparing essence of rue this evening," said Snape when she'd walked in. Graihagh glanced at his work table and saw several glass jars filled with water and tiny yellow flowers. She wondered if it was the same ones he'd picked the morning they'd met in the grounds.

"Take the flowers and strain them like this," he said, picking up the jar and pouring it into a cloth-covered bowl, "then add a few drops of the liquid to your cauldron. There is another solution here-" he pointed to a beaker full of amber liquid. "Add seven drops, then give it three clockwise stirs. The mixture should have a faint yellow colour."

Graihagh picked up the jar and slowly poured it into the bowl, listening to the trickle of the water, and by the time she'd added it to the cauldron she was lost in the work, in the hissing of the cauldron and the movements of her hands and the warmth of the steam on her face. Snape was working alongside her, as quiet as she was, and she knew he was lost in it too.

She didn't know what made her do it. He wasn't anywhere near as friendly as Chumley was. She wasn't even sure he was entirely in his right mind. Maybe he was even still evil. But it was just so much easier to talk when her hands were busy and her mind was half-occupied.

"I was just wondering sir...have you ever felt stuck? Like you weren't sure what direction to go in?"

Snape didn't say anything at first, just scooped some of his potion into a vial held between his long thin fingers, his face relaxed, his expression strangely, startlingly serene. The lines on his face smoothed over and he looked like the young man he still was.

He swirled the vial around in front of his face and examined it.

"Healey's law of holes," he said.

"What-I mean, sorry?"

He set the vial down and looked at her. "When in one, stop digging."

"But how will I know if I'm in one?"

"I have a feeling you already know that, or you wouldn't be asking me."

Graihagh shifted on her feet a little and played a vial between her fingers. He was as unlike Cate as anyone she'd ever met, and yet like her he was one of those people she could never really hide anything from.

She felt his eyes on her and looked up. Snape was doing that funny thing again, where he stared into her eyes without blinking. She glanced away but not before his eyes widened slightly and his brows contracted. He looked angry. But when he spoke his voice was calm, even.

"It's never too late to change course," he said slowly, as though he were weighing every word. "But there are certain things that cannot be taken back, do you understand? Things that can affect the course of your entire life. Damage that cannot be undone."

Graihagh swallowed hard. The idea of doing something permanent, something she couldn't take back, had always been sort of an abstraction to her, but now she was beginning to understand what he meant. If Cate had been there the night before, if she'd seen what she'd done...loyal as she was, Graihagh couldn't imagine her putting up with it.

"And I would remind you that it is...unwise to appear less than fond of Muggle-borns, do you understand? I don't doubt you're well aware of Slytherin's poor reputation. Don't prove them right."

Graihagh nodded slightly and looked away from him. How the hell did he always _know?_

Snape was still looking at her closely. "Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

Graihagh shot him the briefest glance and looked down at her cauldron. There was so much she wanted to tell him she didn't know how to do it.

"No Professor," she said.

He gave her another long look, then turned back to his cauldron, and they worked the rest of the time in silence.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: **I take no credit for the idea of Snape and McGonagall wearing each other's house colours depending on the outcome of the Quidditch Cup, that goes to the amazing eleniaz on Tumblr and a lovely piece of fanart she did. I might be a bit late with the next update, the next chapter will be pretty long (even longer than this one I think) and I want to rewrite parts of it, but it should be up by the 10th at the latest. Thanks for reading! I think this is getting pretty close to the end :)

* * *

Snape marked the last of the unbearably tedious essays with a flourish and set it on the pile on his desk. Hours had passed since dinner and the fire had burned low and he thought of his books and the wireless and the soft chair in his bedroom, but for some reason he didn't go inside. Instead he climbed the dungeon stairs and headed to the staff room, something he'd started to do every once in awhile when the mood struck him. Some nights it was empty, but sometimes he'd find a few staff members there, and he'd play bridge with Filch and swap tips for keeping students in line, or chat about spellwork with Flitwick.

That night the room was empty, which he didn't mind in the slightest. He could just stare into the flames and think.

He poured himself some tea and clutched the cup in both hands and thought about Lily, and his potions, and his students. The fire burned down to glowing coals but he liked the dark and didn't bother to stoke it or add another log, not even when he stood up to get himself more tea. His eyes had adjusted to the dark well enough to see what he was doing.

He'd just filled his cup when there was a clack of shoes on the flagged stone floor and he turned around to see Minerva.

"Why on earth are you standing here in the dark Severus?" She flicked her wand and lit the lamps along the wall.

Snape pretended he didn't mind the light hitting his eyes and sat back down. "Hufflepuff," he said, not bothering to hide his smirk. "You actually lost to Hufflepuff."

Minerva raised an eyebrow at him as she poured herself some tea. "I suppose I'm never going to live this down am I?"

Snape just smiled in a way that told her she certainly wasn't. "How soon did they catch the snitch? Five minutes? I think that might be a record."

"The Marchbanks girl got lucky, if you ask me. If Gryffindor hadn't been facing the sun we would've had it in the bag."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to soften the blow," said Snape, blowing across his tea to cool it.

McGonagall sat down and gave him a wry smile over her cup. "I believe you're forgetting that we've already beaten you."

"I suppose you're bound to have a run of blind luck once in awhile."

"I would say it's rather more than luck, Severus," said Minerva. Her voice was dry-wine crisp but she was smiling a little. "Fancy a flutter? Twenty galleons for Gryffidor to win the cup. And the loser has to wear a badge with the other house's colours."

Snape didn't see how Slytherin could possibly lose, with Gryffindor falling into third place. "Go on then," he said, smiling slightly at the thought of Minerva with a Slytherin badge pinned to her chest.

She summoned a bit of parchment and a quill and wrote it down, and when she'd put it in her pocket she smiled and took a long drink of tea.

"I suppose you have careers consultations coming up," she said after awhile.

"Don't remind me," murmured Snape, sinking a little lower into his chair.

"But surely you must enjoy advising them all on how to take over the world." Minerva's face was deadpan but her eyes were smiling.

He'd be surprised if some of them could take over a monkey enclosure, but he wasn't about to tell Minerva.

"I do rather enjoy it. But you must get tired of explaining to the Gryffindors why they can't all be professional Quidditch players."

"I have had to dissuade a few, it's true. Some of them could barely stay on a broomstick." She looked over at him and smiled just slightly.

She took a long drink of her tea and Snape tapped his fingers on his cup, thinking. As much as he hated to ask anyone for advice, the Selwyn boy and the Corlett girl had been on his mind ever since the start of the term. He knew he had to do something, but he didn't have a clue what to say to either of them.

"Professor Chumley has expressed concerns about two of my students," he said after awhile.

"Has he? And what were his concerns?"

Snape tensed and shifted in his seat. Now he'd done it. He'd opened his big mouth and asked for advice and now he'd have to admit that two of the Slytherins were drawn to the Dark Arts, just like everyone assumed they would be, nevermind the hundreds of Slytherins who came and went without uttering a single dark spell. "He's concerned that their marks are slipping. And...they seem a bit too interested in...certain spells."

Their eyes met and he knew Minerva understood what he wasn't saying. "Well," she said slowly, "I've often found that sudden changes in classroom behaviour point to some underlying issue. Not that you should coddle them of course, but I do wonder if there might be more to it. How are their home lives, do you know?"

"I can't say for certain," said Snape. "Possibly difficult."

"Well, in any case you might want to talk to them about it. Find out what's going on."

Snape didn't really know what to say to this. Getting to know his students on a personal level wasn't something he ever thought he'd be remotely interested in, but then, some small part of him had been wondering about the Selwyn boy ever since he walked up to the stool be Sorted, and the Corlett girl had an intuition for potions that was unlike anything he'd ever seen, save for himself, and Lily.

Minerva was quiet for so long he wondered if he'd done something wrong.

She drummed her fingers against the cup and looked down at the hearthstones. "Severus," she said, in a voice so uncertain Snape just stared at her. "I know perhaps things weren't so easy for you growing up. And I apologize...that more wasn't done."

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't know what to think. If someone had...if things had been different...half-formed thoughts swam around in his mind, images of himself and his parents and Lily he couldn't put words to.

Minerva took a long drink of her tea and set her cup down. "Well, I suppose I ought to get to bed," she said, not quite meeting his eye. "Goodnight Severus."

Snape glanced at her a second and looked away. "Goodnight."

When she'd left he extinguished the lamps with a flick of his wand and stared into the fire until it had burned down to glowing coals, trying to make some sense of his thoughts. Trying to stifle his anger at the thought of everything that could've been.

Snape brought his fist down on the alam clock the second it went off the next morning and covered his face with his pillow to block out the light coming in through the windows. He had ten, maybe twenty minutes of peace before he had to get up and do a full day of career consultations and he intended to savour every second.

He supposed there was some small consolation in the fact he was dealing with Slytherins and at least some of them had the talent to match their ambitions, but a surprising number of them were so clueless that he might've been talking to a Chirzpufle for all the good it did them.

When he'd eaten his breakfast and sat back down in his office he glanced down at his list and saw that Travers' daughter was due first. Snape sat up straighter when she walked into the room, alert, tense, aware that anything he said could make its way back to her father.

"Well, as you know you are here to discuss potential career paths after leaving Hogwarts," he said, the words mechanical, rote, well-practiced. "Do you have any idea what you wish to do?"

"Go into the Ministry I suppose," she muttered.

He rather doubted this. "Really?"

The girl tapped her fingers on her chair and sighed a little, as though steeling herself for something. "No," she said after a long pause. "I want to do something with Herbology."

Snape flicked through the pamphlets on his desk until he found a few on careers in Herbology. "These might be of interest to you," he said pushing them towards her.

The girl stared down her nose at them like they were dead flobberworms. "I can't."

Bloody teenagers. Snape could practically feel his blood pressure going up. "And why not?"

"Because my mother will kill me, that's why."

Of course. The girl's parents. He'd forgotten that particular snag. He knew her family. They were like the Malfoys-not as wealthy and influential, perhaps, particularly after her father's imprisonment, but for people like them hands were for gripping quills, sealing business deals, squeezing hands in an-it's-pleasure-doing-business-with-you gesture as gold and illicit potions slipped through their fingers. Not for pruning and cutting and spreading mulch and caring for living things.

And there were other reasons, darker reasons. The Ministry was teeming with former Death Eaters and sympathizers ready to train her to follow in her father's footsteps should the Dark Lord return-or another take his place, as they likely hoped, thinking the Dark Lord dead. Herbology was her best way out. The girl was no Death Eater. They'd eat her alive.

"Do you want to know what I think?" said Snape, voice stern, demanding her fullest attention. "I think you have a gift and that ignoring it would be foolish in the extreme."

There was a flicker of fire in her eyes but she stifled it. "But my parents-"

"Your parents would be foolish to overlook it. I'll write to your mother again. Herbology is a well-respected field. New discoveries are still being made."

The girl didn't say anything to this, and Snape knew it wouldn't make any difference. The letter to her mother he'd sent earlier in the year had gotten them nowhere.

He leaned back in his chair, resting his hand to his face and looking up at a jar of gillyweed on one of the shelves. He didn't have a clue how he was ever going to persuade her mother. But perhaps he could work around her.

"Why don't you see Professor Sprout and explain the situation? I'm sure she would be amenable to helping you." He knew Professor Sprout go to any lengths to help a student in need. She was strange that way.

Snape thought he saw something in the girl's eyes again, underneath all the doubt and uncertainty. "I think I'll do that," she said. "Thank you sir."

Snape nodded and shifted in his seat. "Do you have any other questions?"

The girl shook her head. "No sir."

"Very well," he said. He gestured to the pamphlet in front of her. "Are you going to take that?"

"Oh, yeah," said the girl. "Thank you."

Snape gave her a brief nod and she left his office.

The next few consultations were uneventful, just the usual high-achieving students all starry-eyed over potential career paths. He tried to steer them away from the Ministry, except for a few so conscientious he knew they'd fight against the corruption there with the single-minded fire of a youthful crusader before they burned out and settled into thirty-odd years of passive-aggressive memos. The Shafiq boy had all the makings of a Healer, and Snape was pleased to tell him so, pleased to prove to himself and everyone else that Slytherin house could produce Healers too.

When the Selwyn boy walked in he sat up straighter, putting a hand to his face and watching him closely. The boy sat down and drummed his fingers on the sides of the chair as he shook his hands.

"Well," said Snape. "Have you given any thought as to what you'd like to do after leaving Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

Snape traced his mouth with a finger and stifled his irritation. He couldn't explain it if he tried, but he cared too much to simply thrust a pamphlet at him and throw him out of his office, as tempting as it was.

"Well," said Snape, "I believe you expressed an interest in art at one point. Do you wish to pursue a career in the arts?"

The boy stared up at the jars on his shelf, thinking maybe. "I want do so something people will notice."

"If you work at it long enough people are likely to notice your art."

The boy grimaced as though he'd said something insulting.

"You disagree?" said Snape.

"It's just-I want to do something important."

Snape knew exactly what the boy was getting at. "Well," he said slowly, "That's an admirable enough sentiment. But I would be very careful as to how you go about it."

The boy's forehead creased and his eyes were shrewd, suspicious. "What do you mean sir?"

Snape looked at him closely, struggling to find the right words, because flat-out warning him against becoming a Death Eater would be something of a giveaway, should his words ever get back to Lucius or any of the others. "I mean that there's a difference between being important and being notorious. People have often striven for the former, and ended up becoming the latter. I don't think that's something you want."

The boy looked startled, but didn't say anything.

"How are things, otherwise?" said Snape.

"Fine sir."

Snape knew perfectly well he was lying. "Your marks are slipping."

The boy jerked his head as though brushing it off. "Yeah, well, I've been busy sir."

"Busy with what?"

"I don't-with Quidditch practice and that sort of thing."

"You have Quidditch practice what, three times a week I believe? That should leave you with plenty of time to study."

The boy didn't say anything to this, just clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Mr. Selwyn."

Selwyn must've sensed he was about to say something important, because he looked back at his face.

Snape couldn't explain the words that were right there at the front of his mind. Maybe because he'd needed to hear it himself, and never did.

"None of what's happened to you is your fault."

Selwyn swallowed hard and looked away again.

"Do you understand me? Nothing that's been done to you is your-"

"I know!"

Selwyn's voice had cracked and he was red in the face. Snape leaned back in his chair, knowing the boy had reached his breaking point. There was nothing more he could say.

"Here," said Snape, picking out a few pamphlets on careers in the arts and pushing them towards Selwyn. "Take these."

"But I don't-"

"Just look at them. Also I should remind you that most career paths require at least a handful of O. , so you will need to put in some serious revision, do you understand? I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to catch up."

The boy took the pamphlets and nodded. He seemed to have calmed down some. "Can I go now sir?"

Snape didn't really see what else he could do for him. He nodded. "Yes, you may go."

Snape was distracted all through lunch, and left without having eaten much. He sat back down behind his desk and glanced down at his list. The Corlett girl was next, and he couldn't help wondering if this meeting would be as pointless as the Selwyn boy's had been.

She hurried into the room three minutes late and sat down, a little red in the face, embarassed most likely.

"Well," said, reciting the words almost automatically, "As you know you are here for a career consultation. Have you given any thought as to what you would like do after leaving Hogwarts?"

She stared down at his desk. "I'm don't really know," she said in a flat voice.

"You must have some idea," he said, trying to stifle his irritation. Something he'd had to do a lot that day.

"I-maybe a Potioneer."

He expected as much. "Well," he said, "you will of course need to continue to N.E.W.T level in Potions. I do not admit anyone into my N.E.W.T class without an 'Outstanding' on their O.W.L, but if you put enough effort into your revision I see no reason why you shouldn't achieve one. However, the work of a Potioneer requires more than just a knowledge of Potions. You will need, at minimum, an O.W.L each in Herbology and Charms. I see," he said, looking down at his notes, "that you are currently averaging 'Poor' in both subjects, so you will need to put in some serious revision."

He looked back up at her and she nodded to show she'd understood, but he doubted it, and it frustrated him. He'd never taught anyone with so much potential as a Potioneer, and she was pissing it all away. He dropped his cool, detached tone and narrowed his eyes at her.

"What is the meaning of these poor marks, Miss Corlett? You are clearly a capable student, and yet you're falling behind in nearly every subject."

The girl turned an even deeper shade of red. "I don't know."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You don't know?"

"I'm just-I've been busy-"

Busy doing things that had nothing to do with her studies, things that could only get her into trouble. Snape slapped his hands down on the desk. "You have too much potential to throw it all away like this. Whatever it is you're doing, whatever is distracting you, it's not worth it, do you understand?"

The girl started and her mouth opened a little, and Snape steadied his breathing and lowered his voice.

"I suggest you work harder before you fail your O.W.L.s. and throw away your chances of becoming a potioneer."

Snape paused and considered her. "There is something else I wish to tell you," he said, making it clear by his voice that he was about to say something important. She looked up at him.

He looked at her closely, as though the intensity of his gaze could somehow make her understand. "I would advise you in the strongest possible terms to avoid any career path that is likely to land you in Azkaban. Do you understand?"

The girl stiffened and sat up straighter. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Sir?"

Snape opened his mouth and thought of her mother and the things she'd done, but he closed it again without saying anything. He'd given his word to Dumbledore, and the old man must've had his reasons.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," he said. The girl leaned forward and opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it, and leaned back into her seat looking more troubled than angry.

"Do you have any questions?" he asked, sincerely hoping that she didn't. She shook her head. "You may go," he said. He watched her as she left, wondering if he'd said enough, and why it mattered so much to him.

Snape thought McGonagall looked rather smug as she sat down to breakfast the morning of the Quidditch final. She glanced down the table at him and gave him a quick nod, the corners of her mouth twitching under the strain of a barely suppressed smile There was an outbreak of noise from the Gryffindors and Snape watched them walk into the Great Hall in their scarlet robes, like a lot of bigheaded celebrities, the Weasley boy in the centre of everything as though he'd discovered the cure for Venomous Tentacula bites as opposed to being slightly above average at catching a little gold ball. Snape glared down at his sausages and stabbed them with a fork.

He'd made a point of pinning a large silver and green rosette to his robes even though Slytherin wasn't playing, and didn't say anything as he walked down to the pitch with the other teachers. The Gryffindor section was a mass of scarlet and gold and when the Weasley boy and the Jones girl walked out onto the pitch the noise became deafening even from where he was sitting. He thought of taking out his wand and casting a silencing charm on the whole lot of them, but the hissing and jeering from the Slytherin section almost made up for it.

Madam Hooch gave a quick blast on the whistle and the players kicked off from the ground. Snape was on the edge of his seat, every muscle rigid, fists clenched. Some small, impartial part of his mind had to admit that the Gryffindor's flew well, passing the Quaffle so seamlessly it was as though they could read each other's minds while the Jones girl hit the bludger with a ferocity that almost impressed him even as it reminded him of all those times he'd caught her dueling the Slytherin players. But more than anything he wanted to see them flattened. They'd have to win by 250 points to take the cup, and he didn't see how they'd ever do it, even if they did fly well.

Gryffindor were a hundred and ten points up when he saw a flash of scarlet out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see the Weasley boy going into a dive at the Ravenclaw end. Everyone rose to their feet, including Snape, and there was near-total silence as Weasley pulled out only a few feet from the ground, broken by a loud groan from the Ravenclaw section as their Seeker crashed into the pitch. The Weasley boy gave him a quick glance over his shoulder and took off again. He'd been feinting, apparently.

After a few minutes the other Seeker was in the air again, but Weasley's little diversion had been effective; he was shooting towards something in the middle of the pitch. In seconds he stopped in mid-air and thrust his fist upwards. The roaring from the Gryffindors was ear-splitting. He was just thinking about how annoying they were when he realized he was out twenty galleons.

The Weasley boy hoisted the Quidditch cup into the air, a scarlet banner draped over his shoulders, as the scarlet-clad Gryffindors broke through the stands and swarmed around the him like a herd of lemmings. He waited awhile before walking out onto the pitch himself and making his way towards McGonagall. He was expecting her to look smug, to smirk at him a bit, but her expression startled him. There were tears in her eyes, and she looked as happy as she'd been when Elphinstone was alive. His irritation ebbed away.

"Congratulations on your victory, Minerva," he said, extending a hand to her. Her eyes widened slightly, startled, but took his hand in that gracious way of hers.

"Thank you Severus," she said, and as they looked at each other an understanding passed between them. The thought of getting close to anyone was more than he could stand, but they didn't need to. What they were was enough. As he walked away she heard her calling to him. He turned to look at her.

"That Gryffindor badge will look lovely on you," she said, and he thought she smirked a little.

He was going to look like a prat. Bloody Gryffindors.

* * *

Graihagh was bent over her Charms notes, trying to decipher her handwriting so she could read them, muttering incantations under her breath, Snape's words in the back of her mind where they'd lived ever since her meeting with him. She'd been so furious at his nerve suggesting she might somehow end up in Azkaban, but it was his other words she thought of now. She had potential. That cold, sarcastic, empty-eyed young man who'd given her so many detentions she'd lost count thought she had potential. She didn't like the thought of letting him down. Of letting herself down, and turning into her mother. She still wanted to be someone, do something that mattered.

"We should do something," said Milo from beside her, cutting across her thoughts.

"Like what?" Graihagh sat up to look at him

"I don't know...recruit more people for Skull and Serpent maybe."

"Not a bad idea," said Graihagh. "We could recruit those two." She nodded towards two second-year girls called Ismelda and Merula. Merula had bewitched her ink to look like blood and was sketching pictures of skulls and Ismelda was painting a Dark Mark on her arm.

"Yeah, maybe," said Milo.

"I don't think we'll have much time for it though, with O.W.L.s coming up," said Graihagh. She bent down over her book, but could hardly take in what she was reading. She didn't know what it was about Milo, he'd always been sort of serious and intense, but he wasn't himself lately. Graihagh hardly ever saw him drawing or painting his figurines, even when he wasn't studying. All he did was read his books and talk with Thorfinn and his friends and stare at that stupid key.

She slammed her book shut and tossed it back into her bag. "Listen, you want to take a break? I told Cate I'd meet her in the Hufflepuff basement. You're welcome to join us."

She thought a dark looked crossed his face at the sound of her name, but maybe she'd imagined it.

"No, that's alright. I'm going to stay here."

She hesitated with her bag half up her arm, but she knew it wasn't going to do any good to press him. She left without saying anything more to him.

Graihagh knew she wasn't going to get many "Exceeds Expectations in her O. ., she had so much on her mind that she'd fallen behind in nearly everything. She skimmed her Astronomy charts, took a few glances at her Care of Magical Creatures notes, made a half-hearted attempt at memorizing the circle of fifths for music, but it was Charms, Herbology, and Potions that took up most of her time. The week before the exams passed by in a haze of distracted revision. She hardly knew what she was reading at times.

The Great Hall was as crowded and noisy as it always was the morning of the first exams, but Graihagh kept thinking of the way it would look in a few hours, when the tables were replaced by desks and the noise with a silence broken only by the scratching of quills and the rustling of parchment. She picked at her bacon and eggs without eating them. Milo wasn't eating much either.

Cate walked up to her in the Entrance Hall just before the first exam, eyes wide and anxious and frizzy hair jumping out of her plait in a nervous electricity.

"Good luck," she said, giving Graihagh's hand a squeeze, and Graihagh knew she understood how important this one was. She returned the pressure.

"Thanks," she said. "You too."

Graihagh knew halfway through the exam that she wasn't doing well, and the pratical examination wasn't much better. She managed to do a decent Summoning Charm, but she got the incantations for the Severing Charms and Growth charms mixed up even though they weren't anything alike, and stood there staring as the ferret in front of her was torn nearly in two. So fascinating, though, the way magic could create and destroy, mend and sever. Beautiful, really. She thought about it long after the exam had ended.

Transfiguration was a complete wash, as she knew it would be, but she thought she might've done alright in Herbology. She spent the entire weekend holed up in her dormitory, studying for Potions, the most critical of all her exams.

The written exam was easy enough. She'd made some of those potions so many times, she could recite the ingredients off by heart, and she knew exactly what they did because she'd watched people take them. She ate a quick lunch and when she saw the work table and cauldron set up she lost herself in the work of cutting and weighing and measuring, until everything around her faded away. When she'd added the last of the ingredients and gave it the smallest clockwise stir her Invigoration Draught looked just as it should.

She ambled out of the Great Hall like a sleepwalker after her last exam, not really paying much attention to where she was going, until she found a beech tree not far from the lake. She sat underneath it next to Milo and looked out at the water, knees drawn up to her chest. The exams were all about their futures, but she didn't really know what hers would look like, and she didn't really want to think about it just then. All she wanted was a distraction. She turned to Milo, who was staring out at the water. "You got a few galleons on you?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I thought I'd get us something for tonight."

He didn't really smile, but his face relaxed. "I think Thorfinn and Livia would give you some."

Graihagh walked over to where they were sitting with a few of their other friends and before long she had ten galleons in her pocket.

The Hogwarts black market was a strictly word-of-mouth operation, run by a few students with knowledge of the school's secret passageways and tricks to get past Filch. The go-to person, as far as she could tell, was a boy named Geoffrey Dingle whose family had been in control of the black market for three generations. There was a small queue of people lined up in front of him where he was sitting under a tree with his friends and Graihagh took her spot, looking over at Milo, who was still staring at the lake.

"Can you get me a bottle of Ogden's?" she said when her turn came up.

"I don't think that'd be a problem. Meet me by that statue of Llewlyn the Legless on the fourth floor at seven."

Graihagh was there at a few minutes to and he appeared as suddenly as though he'd Apparated there. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a bottle that had been bewitched to look like pumpkin fizz. Graihagh handed him her money and tucked them into her robes and he was gone as quickly as he'd come.

Thorfinn made a face at her when she sat down next to him in the common room and pulled the bottle out of her robes. "Pumpkin fizz?"

"It's Firewhisky, you prat."

Thorfinn tried to look as though he knew that all along and one of the seventh-years conjured some glasses and began passing them around. Graihagh poured some into her pumpkin fizz and tried not to screw up her face even though it tasted like burning petrol. Getting pissed was frowned on by the other Slytherins but she was going to do it anyway.

The liquid burned her throat going down and the warmth spread through her body like she'd slipped into a hot bath. She stood and talked with Livia and Hyacinth and some of their other friends, feeling awkward despite the unspoken agreement they'd made a few months before to pretend her clumsy attempt at asking her out had never happened.

Hyacinth locked eyes with them and lowered her voice. "Look who's coming."

Graihagh turned her head and saw the girl named Emily she'd hung round with in her first year, a prefect badge on her robes. She had a bottle of Butterbeer in her hand and her face was flushed.

"Alright?" she said brightly. "How did your exams go?"

"Fine," said Livia. "Yours?"

"Not bad actually," said Emily. "Transfiguration was tough but I'm hoping I did well on it."

Livia looked back at her without saying anything.

"I love your dress robes," said Emily into the silence.

"Thanks." Livia glanced down at Emily's feet. "I think it's really clever of you to wear trainers, they look so comfortable. My feet are killing me." Hyacinth locked eyes with the rest of them, smiling, and Graihagh remembered the way other girls would lock eyes with each other and smirk when Cate was running her mouth off and felt a bit sorry for Emily, even if she did sort of deserve it for throwing her out of her group all those years ago.

"Oh, yeah. Well, I really like your shoes," said Emily, but she wasn't smiling and she tapped her fingers against her bottle. "I'm just going to go grab another Butterbeer. Excuse me."

Livia glanced down and her expression softened. "Emily," she said. Emily turned to look at her.

"I hope you did alright on your exams."

Emily's eyes widened slightly and Graihagh knew she understood what Livia was trying to say. _That wasn't me just now. _She smiled a bit. "Thanks. You too."

"Can you believe that little half-blood swot?" said Hyacinth as Emily walked away.

"You're sleeping with a half-blood you hypocritical twat," muttered Livia over her drink.

Graihagh snorted into her glass and it felt so good to laugh out loud she couldn't stop and just stood there laughing over her drink like a complete fool.

"Bit of a lightweight, aren't we?" said Livia, raising an eyebrow. Graihagh tried to stifle it but it came out as another snort, which only made her laugh harder.

Livia didn't say anything more to this, just took another sip of her drink and stared off into space. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Something wrong?" said Graihagh when she'd stopped laughing.

Livia looked at her a moment as though sizing her up, deciding whether to answer. "My mum's going to cut me off if I don't get enough O.W.L.s to go into the Ministry."

Graihagh was shocked. She knew all about her father being in Azkaban, but she never really gave much though to what her mother was like. "Are you serious?"

Livia shrugged. "I'll sort it out." She stared over at Thorfinn, who was in the middle of a story, by the looks of it.

"I hope things work out for you," said Graihagh. She thought about putting a hand to her shoulder but thought better of it. It would only make things more awkward.

She took a sip of her drink to distract herself and looked over at Milo. One of his teammates was saying something and the rest of them were all laughing but he was clutching his glass and staring into space as though none of them were even there. Graihagh thought about going over to him, sitting beside him, but she knew the others would just crack jokes about it and take the piss, and it'd only make him feel worse.

The fifth-years stayed up for hours, talking and laughing and mucking about. Graihagh got tired and sank into the sofa, propping her feet up on the table and leaning back into the cushion. For some strange reason she though of Cate and all the kittens she would have to Vanish in Transfiguration and before she could stop herself she burst out crying.

"I think you've had enough," said Livia, prising the glass from her hands and putting a hand to her back. Graihagh just cried into her shoulder and it felt so good it made her cry even harder.

She was just about to open her mouth and confess everything when Livia stiffened and everyone went quiet.

"What's going on here?" said a voice she thought was Felix Rosier, one of the sixth-year prefects. She looked up and saw him standing there glaring at them in his long nightshirt and burst out laughing.

Felix narrowed his eyes at her and scanned the room. "You lot better clear off before I get have to get Professor Snape in here."

That seemed to have done it. Livia stood up and someone waved their wand and Vanished all the glasses and the empy bottle and there was a shuffling of footsteps as everyone hurried back to their dormitories.

Graihagh had just stood up and steadied herself when she saw Milo's thin figure slumped over on the sofa across from her. Graihagh shook his shoulder.

"Milo? Milo! Can you hear me?"

Nothing. Graihagh's breath came faster. She didn't know what spells would to use in a situation like this, and she wasn't sure her hand was steady enough anyway. She tapped his face with the back of her hand and raised her voice. "Milo!"

Thorfinn rushed to her side. "What's wrong?"

"He's passed out. I can't wake him."

Thorfinn knelt beside Milo and took his face in both his hands. "Milo!" He slapped his face with the back of his hand. "Milo!" He turned to Graihagh. "I can't wake him either." His voice was shaking and Graihagh had never seen him look so scared.

"I'm getting Professor Snape," said Felix, who was already halfway towards the common room entrance.

Thorfinn locked eyes with Graihagh, but she knew he was more worried about Milo than himself.

Professor Snape was there within minutes. He knelt down beside Milo and checked for a pulse, then listened to his breathing. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial, tipping it into Milo's mouth. His eyes fluttered and opened slowly. He didn't seem to know where he was. She wasn't sure he could walk.

"He needs the hospital wing," said Snape.

"C'mon mate," said Thorfinn, his deep voice jarringly gentle. "Let's get you moving a bit." He lifted him up by the shoulders and Professor Snape slipped his arm around Milo, half-carrying him tto the common room entrance

"You two wait here," said Snape over his shoulder.

Graihagh sank down onto the sofa next to Thorfinn, who was staring at the fireplace, not saying anything. After what felt like forever Snape came sweeping into the room, bearing down on them like a mountain.

"He'll be fine," said Snape, before Graihagh had even opened her mouth to ask. "But I would like to know how he came to be drinking at all when it is against school rules."

Graihagh glanced at Thorfinn and knew he wouldn't give her away, but she didn't see the point in trying to cover it up. He'd probably just find out anyway, he always did.

"We-someone got a bottle of Firewhisky."

"Who?" said Snape, looking right at Graihagh in a way that told her he knew perfectly well who.

"I did," she said.

She expected Snape to turn red, to snarl, to snap at her. Instead he looked at her a long time. "I think a week's worth of detentions should keep you out of trouble until the end of term," he said. He looked her straight in the eye. "I hope you appreciate the danger you put your friend in."

Graihagh wanted to sink under the floor and stay there, but it wasn't because of the detentions. It was because she knew Snape was right.

She went back to her dormitory and sank into bed but she barely slept.

Every beat of Graihagh's heart was slamming into her skull. Her eyes were shut tight but the light was blinding against her eyelids.

"The hell..."

Graihagh buried her face in her pillow and clutched at her pounding head. "I'm never drinking again."

There was a rustle of blankets from the bed beside her where Livia slept. "Until somebody gets another bottle of Firewhisky, then you'll get pissed again," she said, and Graihagh supposed she had a point.

The inside of her mouth was parched, so she scooped out a glass of water from the basin beside her bed. She couldn't really go back to sleep, so, shading her eyes with one of her hands, she got dressed and walked into the common room, where a few people were lounging around, talking in low voices. Most of the fifth-years were still in bed.

Graihagh sank into the sofa next to Thorfinn, who was bent over the table with a plate of sausage rolls.

"Did Milo come back last night?" she said.

Thorfinn frowned; he hardly ever looked so serious. "Yeah. He'll be alright," he said. "But it could've been really bad. Someone should've been keeping a closer eye on him."

Graihagh wondered if by "someone" he meant her, and couldn't stop the surge of guilt that went through her. "Yeah, I know. Has he seemed...I don't know, a bit strange to you lately?"

Thorfinn's expression changed, but Graihagh didn't know what it meant. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It just seems like he's changed or something. Like he's not himself."

"Yeah, I dunno. Maybe." He finished his sausage rolls and wiped his hands with a napkin. "He's got a lot of conditioning to undo, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean his parents are practically blood-traitors. Lucius Malfoy sort of keeps his dad in line, from what I've heard, but I've had to teach Milo a few things."

Graihagh was a lot more concerned about the fact that his parents were out of their heads half the time, and she didn't want to hear any more. She stood up and walked towards the common room entrance.

"You're not going to see your Mudblood friend, are you?" said Thorfinn from behind her.

Graihagh whipped around. "Call her that one more time and I will kick your arse," she said, hoping fervently that he wouldn't take her up on it, because he was the size of a refrigerator. One of those industrial ones they used in restaurants.

Thorfinn just smirked and without another word to him she stomped off to the basement steps. All the torches along the wall were lit and Graihagh winced and shaded her eyes with her hand.

"Alright Graihagh?" said Cate as she sat down. "You look like you're hungover or something."

"Bit," muttered Graihagh.

"Here," said Cate, pulling a turnover out of the pocket of her robes. "Eat this, it'll help."

"Cheers Cate," said Graihagh, taking a bite of the turnover. Maybe it was because she'd been feeling so sick, but its flaky sweetness was a comfort to her.

They sat in silence awhile, just chewing their turnovers. Graihagh was halfway through hers when she glanced over at Cate and saw that her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying her eyes out that morning.

"Everything alright?" she said.

"No."

Graihagh set her half-eaten turnover on her lap and put a hand to her shoulder. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"There's someone I've sort of fancied for awhile and I went up to him last night-we had an end-of-exam party too-and...I sort of overhead him saying some things about me to his friends."

Graihagh didn't ask her to repeat whatever it was he'd said. She knew it was something horrible.

"Who is it? I'll slip some laxative potion into his pumpkin fizz for you."

Cate let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "It's no one. It doesn't matter."

"He's an idiot. You know that. I think you're amazing."

Cate shot her a little half-smile. "Thanks."

Graihagh smiled back. "I have really shit luck too, you know."

"What do you mean?"

Graihagh glanced around the corridor to make sure they were completely alone and lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "Well, I sort of fancy someone too. And I sort of made a complete fool out myself in front of…" She glanced around again. "In front of...her."

Cate's eyes widened. "Her?"

"Yeah," said Graihagh, face hot, searching her face anxiously.

Cate's face softened and her smile was like a benediction. "I'm sorry things didn't go well," she said.

Graihagh breathed out like she was letting out all the air she'd been holding in for years. "Yeah. Thanks."

Cate took another bite of her turnover, and they were quiet awhile, eating.

"Is there anything else wrong?" said Graihagh, who was starting to find Cate's lack of incessant chatter downright unnerving.

Cate crossed her arms and hugged them to her chest. "I'm sort of not looking forward to going home."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry. That's awful." She looked at her a moment. "Do you want to come to Mann with me? I'm sure my dad would say yes."

Cate didn't smile, but her face softened. "Yeah. I mean, if it's alright with him. I'd love to."

"I'll go write to my dad right away," said Graihagh, standing up and wiping her hands on her robes. Cate stood up with her and Graihagh looked her in the eye.

"Whatever that tosser said to you, don't believe it, alright?"

Cate nodded and smiled slightly. "See you later."

"See you."

Graihagh hurried back to the common room and Summoned a parchment and quill out of her dormitory. She was partway through the letter when she heard a shuffling of footsteps and looked up to see Milo staggering towards the sofa, sweaty hair lank against his washed-out face.

Graihagh put a hand to his back as he sat bent over his knees with his head in his hands. "Are you okay?

"I don't know."

Without really caring what any of the other Slytherins would think Graihagh put her arm around his shoulders. Milo stiffened but he put his head close to hers.

"Spend the summer with me again?" he said in such a low voice she could barely hear him.

Graihagh thought about Cate and about her Dad and the smell of her favourite chip shop. About Milo, slumped over the sofa in his parents empty house, all by himself, and the thick golden potion waiting in the room she always stayed in, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Yes."


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: **Content warning: this chapter is going to depict the kind of psychological manipulation that is used by cults/extremist groups, and there will be a bit of violence at the beginning. These next few chapters will be a bit intense.

Credit for the idea of Narcissa having a greenhouse full of carnivorous plants goes to humanveil (who writes some excellent Snape and Malfoy fic on AO3)

I've got the rest of the story planned out and it will for sure be 42 chaps, so we're almost there :) Thanks so much for reading and to everyone who has favorited/followed

* * *

The summer that Snape joined the Death Eaters, Lucius made a space for him in Malfoy Manor, filled with cauldrons and potions ingredients. Snape would hole himself in for hours, working, experimenting, making anything they asked for. One night he came up with a powerful poison, not quite flavourless in colourless but very difficult to detect. For some reason he didn't tell any of the others. He'd enjoyed making it, but he didn't really want to see it used on anyone. It was enough to know he could.

But the Dark Lord always knew.

"I see you have invented a new potion, Severus," said the Dark Lord one day when he'd summoned him for one-on-one meeting. "May I see it?"

Sweat trickled down the back of Snape's neck. He couldn't really refuse, not unless he wanted to be killed.

And besides, he knew it would impress him.

He pulled the vial out of his robes. "It's a new poison," he said. "Colourless, nearly flavourless. Very difficult to detect."

The Dark Lord inclined his head to him. "Impressive Severus. Very impressive."

Snape's mouth curled into a smile but his fingers reached towards the vial.

"Give it back to you? I think not. No, this is far too useful."

Snape swallowed hard. There was nothing more he could do. "Yes, my Lord. Of course."

A few days later, he was summoned to the Lestranges. A young Ministry official had become friendly with some of the Death Eaters and had asked to join up, and the Dark Lord invited him to dinner.

"Severus, over there, besides Bellatrix." There were a few raised eyebrows and had the Dark Lord not been listening to their every word, Snape was sure there would have been indignant muttering at this shabby half-blood upstart, as a few of them called him. He held his head high as he took his seat.

"Well," the Dark Lord said to the young man, "I am told you are interested in joining us."

"Yes, my Lord," the man said, inclining his head. "I place myself at your service." His voice was so ingratiating, so eager, Snape cringed. The man's forehead was shining with sweat in the candlelight and Snape wondered what idiot picked him for this mission.

"There is no need to lower your eyes," the Dark Lord said softly. The man looked up, and noticing that the Dark Lord was looking at him intently, flicked his eyes towards him. There was silence. Snape doubted man knew what was happening. The corners of the Dark Lord's mouth lifted slightly.

"We are always in need of new members, Mr. Fawley. And you come from noble stock. I welcome you."

He raised his glass of wine, and they all did the same.

"A toast, then. To our glorious cause, and the future we shall build together." They all waited for the Dark Lord to take a drink. He drained his glass, and they followed suit.

Snape scooped up a bit of his lobster with his fork and put it into his mouth, savouring the tender meat, which he had never had before. The Dark Lord nodded to Bellatrix, who nodded to the elf, who'd been standing along the wall. The elf shuffled over to the table and started refilling glasses, turning his back to them.

The elf refilled Snape's glass and he had just taken sip when there was choking and retching from across the table. The man was clutching his throat and shaking violently, his eyes rolling back until they were almost white. Snape tightened his grip on his glass and glanced at the Dark Lord, who was watching him calmly, the corners of his mouth still lifted. Bellatrix was sipping her wine and smirking, not taking her eyes off him, and the others were bent over their plates as though nothing was happening. Snape looked down at his own plate, but he couldn't eat any more. There was a thud and a clatter of porcelain as the man collapsed onto the table. Everyone glanced towards the Dark Lord, waiting.

"It is a shame and a waste," he said softly. "I regret it. But it had to be done." With a flick of the wand he turned his body into dust, and Vanished it. Then he looked right at Snape, smiling slightly, and Snape understood. He could have finished him off with a flick of the wand, but he wanted Snape to watch, wanted him to know what his poison had done.

_You're one of us now, _his eyes seemed to say. _There's no going back now. _

And he was right.

After eight years, Snape could not get the man's face out of his mind. The last day of term, he saw him in his dreams.

He jumped out bed and threw his books and clothes and photographs into a suitcase before hurrying out into the grounds to Apparate.

Spinner's End had been deserted for years, but he preferred it that way. He fumbled for his key and once he was inside he set his suitcase down on the floor and with a flick of the wand he summoned a book out of his suitcase. It was a rare volume on magical water plants that he'd acquired during the last term, and he'd already read through it, but he decided to read it again, to keep his mind off things. He looked up at the bookshelves that covered the wall all the way up to the ceiling. The shelves made the space even smaller, but it covered up the water-stained plaster and the memories of his father shouting. His mother would've liked them.

The pile of gold in his Gringott's vault had grown, and sometimes he thought of quitting Spinner's End for good and finding himself a small cottage somewhere, Hogsmeade perhaps, but it was always a fleeting thought. Hogwarts was his home now.

And besides, he could be alone here. No one lived in Spinner's End.

After he'd read awhile he went upstairs and dropped his suitcase on the floor of his old room, not bothering to unpack anything except the photographs, which he put in a bedside drawer. Apollo had flown in ahead of him and was sleeping in an open cage, and Snape gave him a few owl treats and fed Paracelcus before he left the house, pulling a frock coat over his Muggle shirt and trousers despite the summer heat. There was some strange comfort in all those layers of clothing, as though he could cover up who he really was.

A grey tabby-cat was sitting on the stoop when he stepped outside, watching him. He could've sworn he'd seen it before. Cats were judgmental creatures but none he'd ever met had a gaze quite so scorching. He spared it an irritated glance and started on his walk through the old places.

There was a cinema not far from the playground where he and Lily would go to watch the Saturday morning matinee. She'd would pay for his ticket and buy them ice lollies and they'd sit in the very back row staring up at the screen, all wide-eyes and sticky hands. This was something none of the others knew, that joy of watching stories playing out on the screen. Something for him and Lily alone.

There was already a small queue of people waiting outside, but he wanted to take a look at the film posters anyway, so he didn't mind.

Maybe he'd been out of the Muggle world too long, he didn't know, but the films seemed strange to him. He didn't like the looks of one called _Top Gun,_ or the one featuring a rather smarmy looking bloke called Ferris Buehler who was apparently skiving off his classes. He passed over the one next to it, and the one after that, until he found one called _Aliens_. Lily had always liked that sort of thing. He just hoped the props had improved since when they went to the cinema.

He picked a seat in the back and paid for his ticket, and when he sat down he took off his frock coat and shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he waited for the lights to dim.

The film was a glorious assault on his senses that had him on the edge of his seat, and he rather liked that Ripley woman. There was only one problem. The teenagers in front of him weren't watching it. They were talking and laughing and throwing popcorn at each other. Arrogant little beasts.

Snape reached into the pocket of his frock coat until he found the jar of live tarantulas he'd bought in Knockturn Alley the day before, so he could harvest their venom. He leaned forward and tapped one of the teenagers on the shoulder.

The boy turned around, faced twisted into a scowl, and he' d just opened his mouth to say something when Snape held up the jar, smiling a little in a way that told the boy plainly that he was fully prepared to use them.

The boy nudged his friends and they all stared at him. Snape put a finger to his lips.

They didn't make a sound the rest of the film, and Snape had to admit that he'd rather enjoyed himself.

The light was too bright when he left the cinema, and he went straight to his house and made a simple meal for himself with some meat and vegetables he'd picked up at the market in Hogsmeade. He read awhile, then went to bed early, trying remember the film, trying not to think too much.

One day blended into the next, the way it always did in the summer, so that before long he didn't even know what day it was. He found it hard to concentrate at times; he kept glancing towards the the window for some sign of an owl, and starting when he thought he heard tapping on the glass. When he finally saw the eagle owl hovering outside his window, he let it inside and tore the envelope open. It was not just the distraction from his memories that interested him now.

He stopped and stood beside the fountain outside the manor to collect his thoughts and clear his mind, letting go of every doubt, every fear, listening to the gentle trickling of the water, the sharp call of a peacock from somewhere in the garden.

Lucius met him at the door, in robes of white satin embroidered with silver dragons. "Severus," he said, clapping him on the back. "It's been too long. Come, I've ordered some renovations to the conservatory that might interest you."

He followed Lucius to the back of the manor, to a set of wide glass doors that led to the conservatory, and nearly gasped out loud.

The place had been enchanted to enormous proportions, every kind of plant and animal imaginable, palm trees filled with bright tropical birds in one corner, waving grasses and pronghorns in another. A snowy white leopard sauntered up to Lucius and Snape nearly jumped.

"Ah, Caligula, you've decided to join us," murmured Lucius, scratching the beast behind the ears. "He's completely harmless," he said to Snape, smiling a little at his expression. Snape extended a finger and gave it the lightest brush before pulling his hand back.

Lucius gestured towards a small wrought-iron table where a chessboard had been set up. "I've been teaching Draco to play," he said. "Would you care for a match?"

"Certainly," said Snape. It had been Lucius who had taught him to play, his first year at Hogwarts. Snape sat down opposite Lucius as the pieces arranged themselves and the elf brought them some wine.

"It's been awhile since I've seen you," said Snape, voice casual and unconcerned, even though he'd somewhat missed Lucius' company. "You've been well, I take it?"

"I have," said Lucius. "E4." His pawn marched eagerly to the square. "Yourself?"

"Well enough. C5."

Lucius glanced up at him, smiling a little. They stared at the board a moment, but Snape was having difficulty keeping his mind on the game. There were things he needed to find out, without giving anything away.

"Students giving you any trouble?" said Lucius, as one of his knights charged into f3 and reared. Snape sent a pawn forward.

"Only all the time. But I have a few rather talented fifth-years."

"Do you?" said Lucius, sending forth one of his own pawns.

This was the opening Snape was looking for. "Mr. Selwyn, for one," he said, as one of his pawns wrestled Lucius's and threw it from the board. "No doubt he's benefitted from your attention." Snape looked up at Lucius and smiled slightly, willing himself to believe this was a good thing. And maybe in some ways it was. No one else was paying any attention to the boy.

Lucius gave him a small smile back. "I wonder if he'll follow his father's footsteps and enter the Ministry," Lucius said, his knight charging into Snape's pawn, shattering it to pieces. "He's proven to be a rather useful connection, even if he does need a bit of persuasion from time to time."

"Knight to f6," Snape murmured. "Do you see much of them, then?"

"Occasionally. Knight to c3."

Snape stared at the board a moment. "G6," he said, frowning in concentration. He looked up. "How are things on the Board of Governors?" he asked, in what he hoped was an offhand way.

"Same as always. They fawn over that idiot Headmaster like he was the second coming of Merlin. Bishop to e3."

"Well, I apologize for not having done more to assist you in that regard," said Snape, as his own bishop strutted pompously to another square.

"I quite understand," said Lucius, sending another pawn forward. "His protection has been useful to you, you had to kiss his arse a bit. I'd have done the same thing."

"I suppose," said Snape. castling his king and looking up at Lucius. "But I do believe I've bought myself great deal of goodwill. So much so that perhaps I might be in a position to do more to subvert him."

Lucius looked back at him, straight in the eye, though his expression was difficult to read. Snape wondered if he saw suspicion there, or if he only imagined it.

"I wouldn't say no to that. Queen to d3."

Lucius didn't say more about it, but Snape could tell he was considering it, and he knew to keep quiet and let him think. They sat in silence awhile, concentrating on the board, visualizing their moves. To Snape's irritation, his king was cornered by two pawns.

"Checkmate," said Lucius smoothly, as his pawn shattered the king to pieces. "Excellent match," he said, smiling at Snape, who gave a stiff nod as they finished their drinks.

Draco came running into the room and scratched the leopard behind the ears before tugging on his father's sleeve.

"We have company, Draco," said Lucius, a note of warning in his voice.

The boy murmured something Snape couldn't hear.

Lucius's expression softened and the corners of his mouth turned up. "I suppose." He got off the chair and let Draco climb on.

"He wants to play a match with you," said Lucius, smiling in the embarassed way of a man owning up to a weakness.

"Certainly," said Snape, looking at Draco, who was staring back at him, whether frightened or awed he didn't know.

The boy was already rather skilled for a six-year-old, but it wasn't in Snape's nature to let him win, and the match was over after twelve moves or so.

"Good match," said Snape to the boy, who just looked back at him with those wide pale eyes of his.

Lucius nudged him. "Thank you sir," said Draco quietly.

"Run along and play," said Lucius. "Dinner will be ready before long."

Lucius turned back to Snape with a small smile. "He'll be one of your favourites, I'm sure."

"Naturally," said Snape, and he meant it.

Snape followed Lucius into the drawing room for drinks and stayed for dinner, but Lucius said no more about the Selwyn boy, and the conversation turned to other things, lighter things. They played a game of wizard billiards before Snape took his leave.

He was walking along the front drive when he thought he saw a light coming from the greenhouse at the edge of the garden, and he knew Narcissa was there, tending to her plants. He walked up to it and pushed the door open.

The air was hot and thick and smelled of damp soil and living things and the only light was a lamp hanging from a ceilng. Narcissa was standing with her back to him, running her fingertips along a vicious-looking black flower with razor sharp teeth.

Snape cleared his throat and Narcissa jumped. "Severus! I didn't hear you come in."

"I hope I didn't startle you," said Snape, cringing as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because he obviously had.

Narcissa wiped a strand of hair from her face, leaving a small streak of dirt there. "No, that's alright. I'm glad you stopped by."

Snape glanced around the greenhouse. He'd never been there before. Plants covered every available surface, the usual ones like Venomous Tentacula and Flitterblooms and umbrella flowers, and some he'd never seen before.

"It's my favourite hobby lately," said Narcissa, smiling a little, eyes shining in the low light. "This is my latest acquisition." She gestured to the plant she had been tending when he walked in. "A black mamba flower. Its bite is poisonous, but the toxins have magical properties."

Snape bent down and examined one of the petals, snatching his fingers away when it snapped it's jaws like an angry crocodile.

"Run your fingers along its back," said Narcissa.

Snape ran a finger along its spiky stem and the plant crooned and went slack.

"Fascinating," murmured Snape. "Would you mind if I collected some venom?"

"Certainly."

Snape reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a vial and some thin rubber film, and when he'd placed the film over the vial he pressed the plant's teeth into it as the thick milky venom dripped down the sides.

"Can I ask you something?" said Narcissa when he'd finished and slipped the vial back in his pocket.

Snape was used to this by now, but it never got any less awkward.

"It's just that...Lucius seems to be under the impression that there's going to be another Dark Lord..." she let the sentence trail away, and Snape understood what she was asking.

"Not another one, no."

"So...you don't think there's going to be another war?"

Snape respected her too much to lie. "I think another war seems unavoidable."

Narcissa sucked in her breath and gripped a shelf, knocking over a potted plant.

She pulled out her wand and repaired the pot, filling it with soil and setting the plant back in. "I'm sorry, I don't know what got into me just now," she said, wiping the dirt off her hands and trying to sound offhand. Snape pretended not to notice what had just happened.

"Is that a fanged geranium you have there?"

"Yes," said Narcissa, sounding eager to resume normal conversation. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

They stood and looked at it awhile, and it was peaceful, but Snape sensed there was more Narcissa wanted to say. Just as he was turning to leave, she put her hand to his arm.

"You'll look after him, won't you? You'll look after Draco if...when..."

Snape looked into her wide, anxious eyes. "Yes," he said. "I will."

Narcissa's face slackened and she squeezed his arm, making him flinch again. "Thank you."

Snape nodded, but he was uncomfortable now, and keen to get away. He put a hand to the doorknob. "Goodnight Narcissa."

"Goodnight Severus."

* * *

The riverbank was deserted, it always was. Snape ambled down the slope to a willow tree growing along the water and pressed his hands to it, the bark rough underneath his fingertips. The river water was thick and stagnant, but he barely noticed. He sitting beside her in another time, listening to her voice, watching the speckled shadows on her face.

The playground was deserted too. He ran his hands along the metal chains that she'd touched so many times, when she'd pull back on the chain and pump until she was almost even with the top pole. He sat down on it and pushed back and forth with his feet, making the rusty chains squeak. He closed his eyes. He could hear her laughing.

The words broke into his mind unwanted, unbidden. _Go to Godric's Hollow. _

He pushed them away. He wanted to remember her the way she was.

Lily Evans.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, holding on to the chains like his lifeline, rocking back and forth, eyes closed, thinking if he just opened them she'd be there. After awhile he sensed someone watching him and opened his eyes. A dark-haired boy in an oversized t-shirt and too-small trousers was standing across the asphalt staring straight at him. Snape was as unnerved as though he was staring at his own ghost. Maybe he was, he didn't know.

Three boys on bicycles stopped short in front of the boy, who started.

"Oi! Better run, dirty little fucker."

The boy turned on his heels and ran, arms and legs pumping furiously, but the boys were too fast for him. Snape knew what was going to happen before it did.

And without knowing why he was back on the Hogwarts grounds and running like hell.

"_Fuck off!_"

Snape's throat was so raw he knew he'd screamed it. The boys straightened up and stared at him.

Snape reached into the pocket of his frock coat. There was nothing there this time except his wand, but he was fully prepared to use it, Ministry be damned. The boys scattered, running pell-mell for their bicycles, and sped away.

The boy in the too-short trousers pushed himself up off the ground, rubbing his arms.

"Thank you," he said.

"Not at all."

The boy squinted up at him as though trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "Do you live round here?"

"I live in Spinner's End."

The boy's eyes widened. "You live _there?_" His mouth opened slightly and he backed away a little, as though Snape were a phantom. Snape couldn't blame him, really. Sometimes he felt like one.

"Do they bother you often?" said Snape, nodding towards the place where the boys had been.

"Yeah, sometimes," said the boy, and Snape understood what he was really saying. _All the time._

Snape reached into the pocket of his frock coat until he found a small metal sphere he'd bought in Knockturn Alley years ago, something he always kept with him in case of danger.

"Here," he said. The boy just stared at it.

"It's protective device. Watch." He held it in front of him and gave it a vigourous shake. An opening appeared in the metal and a smoky black serpent flew out of it, so black he couldn't see in front of him.

The boy shouted.

"It's alright," said Snape. "It's not real, but it'll create enough of a diversion to let you get away. And it'll scare the shit out of them."

The boy stared at it, then glanced up at Snape.

"Go on, take it."

The boy hesitated just a second longer, then reached out a hand and took it. Snape didn't think it would cause enough of a disturbance for the Ministry to notice, and he doubted they'd bother with this dirty little corner of Cokeworth anyway.

"It won't always be this way," said Snape. "But in the meantime give them hell for me."

The boy nodded. "Thank you."

Snape turned and walked back to Spinner's End.

* * *

Graihagh didn't say anything as she dismounted the broom with Milo and his mother and they made their way up the path to his house. His father hadn't made it to King's Cross but he met them at the door, clapping Milo on the back and shaking Graihagh's hand, beaming.

"Well, it seems your potion turned out alright," he said to Graihagh as she stepped inside.

Graihagh couldn't believe what she was hearing."Did it? That's...thank you." She bolted up the stairs and didn't stop until she'd reached her old room.

Some thick gold liquid was bubbling in her cauldron, leaping into the air like it was alive and exhilarated with its own vitality. She scooped some with a ladle and watched it fall back into the cauldron, closing her eyes and breathing it in. Liquid luck, that's what this was. She could do anything.

Someone cleared their throat and she turned to see Milo's father standing there. "I don't suppose you'd mind giving me a bit of that?" He was watching her closely, curling and uncurling his fingers, alert, tense.

She'd been expecting this, even though she didn't really know what he'd be using it for. She looked back at the cauldron and remembered what the book had said, about large doses being toxic. She wouldn't need all of it. But there was a problem.

"Erm-are you sure? I mean, If I've done it wrong, it could be dangerous-"

"You haven't done it wrong," he said softly. He was staring down at that cauldron with a strange look in his eyes, and she wondered how he knew. She summoned some vials from her trunk and divided it up, hoping like hell they knew what they were doing, and that he wasn't about to get sick, or worse.

"Thank you," he said. He tucked the vial into the pocket of his robes and left.

It wasn't late, but Graihagh pulled on her pyjamas and fell back onto the bed, thinking of the day before, when she'd explained to Cate why she wouldn't be going with her to Mann that summer. The way Cate's forehead creased the way it did when she was upset. The way her eyes had pierced her, because she knew Graihagh was hiding something.

Graihagh pulled a quill and a sheet of parchment out of her trunk and set it on the nightsand. She sat for what felt like an hour with the quill over the parchment, trying to find the right words, trying to explain to her. She'd only scratched out a few sentences when she crumped the parchment and tossed it against the wall. There didn't seem to be any point. She didn't write to her dad anymore either.

The sun was already high outside her window when she woke up the next morning. She pulled the curtains closed and lay there awhile longer before getting dressed.

She'd been away from the Muggle world so long the only clothes she had left were a few blouses and an old pair of jeans that were too short for her, but she put them on anyway, because she'd missed the way the way it felt to lounge around in jeans over the holidays, stretched out in front of the television. She wished they had one, or even a radio. She hadn't listened to Muggle music in so long.

Milo was sitting at the kitchen table in a set of plain black robes, eating a bowl of porridge and staring at the table, looking much too subdued for someone on holiday.

Graihagh sat down across from him and grabbed some toast off a plate. "What do you want to do today?" she said, trying to brighten things up a bit, coax him out of his shell. "Want to take your broomstick out or something?"

"I thought we'd practice some spells," said Milo. "Thorfinn's coming over later."

"Are you serious? It's the first day of holidays."

"Yeah, well, we've got a lot to learn haven't we?"

"Traa dy liooar," said Graihagh, remembering the old saying to take it easy.

"What?"

"Nothing," she muttered. She didn't want to think of her family just then, or Mann. "So, have you made anything lately?"

"Not lately."

Graihagh dumped half a jar of marmalade on her toast. "How do you think you did on your O.W.L.s?"

Milo just shrugged. Graihagh didn't say any more as they finished their breakfast. There was no point in pressing him.

Thorfinn came out of the fireplace a few hours late, looking Graihagh up and down as he wiped the ashes from his hair, eyes narrowed.

"Get out of those clothes," he said.

Graihagh couldn't believe his nerve. "Nice to see you too, you git."

"I'm serious. Get them off. Show some respect."

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who nodded slightly, and she knew there was no point in arguing. She went upstairs and threw some robes over herself. She had to admit that she felt different when she put them on, taller, more graceful. Maybe they had a point.

Thorfinn pulled his wand out of his pocket. "I thought we'd practice Disillusionment Charms."

Graihagh didn't have a clue what that was. "What?"

"Don't you pay any attention? They make you invisible. Well, sort of. They help you blend in with whatever's around you. Here, you tap your wand to yourself like this." He demonstrated. "Then you say the incantation. _Occultus._"

They practiced for what felt like hours, but Graihagh never did get the hang of it. Thorfinn could make himself fade a bit and Milo could do the charm so well he nearly blended in with the wall behind him, though Graihagh could still see his outline.

"You were brilliant mate," said Thorfinn, clapping Milo on the back. Milo's eyes lit up like match in the dark as Thorfinn stowed his wand back in his pocket. "You got any extra brooms?"

Milo nodded and took them out to the broom shed, and they flew around back garden awhile, Graihagh Keeping while Milo and Thorfinn practiced throwing. They washed and had dinner with his parents and when they'd finished their pudding and stood up Graihagh was hoping Thorfinn would leave. But he didn't. They waited until Milo's parents had gone to bed, then sat in front of the fire in the sitting room, talking.

"We going to any matches this summer?" said Graihagh, trying to keep the conversation on lighter things.

"Yeah, probably," said Milo, taking a sip of butterbeer. She had a feeling Thorfinn wanted to pull something out of his parents' liquor cabinet, but thought better of it.

"I was thinking," said Milo. He glanced around the room, to see if the elf was there maybe, but she wasn't. He leaned forward on the sofa, tapping his hands on the sides, and Graihagh knew something was coming.

"I don't think the Dark Lord died."

Graihagh's throat was tight. Since when had Milo called You-Know-Who the Dark Lord?

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. They never found the body did they? Or at least they never said they did. And this potion, and that inscription about overcoming death-I think there must be a way to do it, and I think it's got something to do with that key."

"I heard of something like that," said Thorfinn slowly. "But no one knows how it works."

Graihagh looked from one to the other. "Yeah, but that's just it, isn't it? No one knows. And wouldn't it be horrible if You-Know-Who came back?"

"I don't know that we could bring him back anyway," said Milo. "Not yet. We don't know who his father was."

"What the hell-are you talking about that potion? You're actually thinking of making it?"

Thorfinn and Milo locked eyes, and Graihagh's chest was so tight she couldn't breathe. The walls were too small. She had to get away.

She set her glass down on the table. "I think I'll turn in," she said, struggling to keep her voice even, to keep her fear from showing.

"Night," said Milo. Thorfinn didn't say anything.

She ran up the stairs and fell into bed, burying her face in her pillow. Downstairs she knew Thorfinn and Milo were still talking, maybe even toasting the Dark Lord.

Only this time they weren't joking.

Graihagh woke up too early but she couldn't go back to sleep. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, holding a vial of golden potion in front of her face and watching it swirl in front of the glass. She could throw it out, dump it out the window, and no one would ever know. She hadn't told Thorfinn it was finished, and Milo didn't even know she'd made it.

But she'd worked too hard at it, she was too proud of herself for it. She dug some old clothes out of her trunk and wrapped it up in a blouse. She'd find a use for it, someday.

She folded up the clothes she'd scattered on the floor and packed them away, along with most of her other things. She'd stay another week, maybe, but after that she was going back to Mann. She couldn't stay there, and Milo didn't need her anyway.

She holed up in her room, trying to make potions but really just pacing the floor, and didn't come out until the elf told her to come for dinner. Milo's parents were out, so it was just the two of them, small against the huge dining room table that was like a chasm she couldn't get across.

She ate quickly and stood up, ready to go back to her room.

"Want to go for a walk with me?" said Milo.

He looked so earnest, so eager for her company she didn't say no.

"You've been quiet today," said Milo as they walked through the back garden, which was saying something, because Milo was easily the quietest person she'd ever met.

"It's nothing."

Milo gave her a sideways look. "Is it because of what we were saying last night?

He'd struck a nerve, and everything Graihagh had been keeping in came rushing out of her. "What is with you lately? You hardly ever work on your art anymore, your obsessed with that stupid key and you don't even think You-Know-Who was all that bad. It's like I don't even know you."

Milo looked taken aback. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just..." He sat down in the grass beside a small pond. Graihagh sat down next to him.

"I feel like I've been lied to my whole life, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there's so much they didn't tell us. You remember those books we read. All the persecutions and killings and such."

She did remember. "Yeah. I know."

"And it's like...I don't know, my parents tell me all these things, but what the fuck do they know?" He drew a sharp breath and his voice broke. "All they care about is themselves."

Graihagh put an arm around him. His muscles were tense and he was like a loaded spring, ready to vault. "I know," she said. She decided to change the subject. "The stars are bright here."

"Yeah," said Milo, looking up at the sky. "Doesn't it make you feel small? Thinking of all those billions of distant stars and planets? Makes you realize how insignificant we are, doesn't it?

Graihagh had never thought of it that way. "Sort of scary, really."

"It really is," said Milo. Graihagh put her arm down and they looked up at the stars, the wind rustling the grass like low whispers.

"Do you ever feel invisible?" said Milo after awhile.

"Sometimes. Do you?"

"All the time."

Graihagh had no idea he felt this way so often, and yet, it made sense. Even in his own home he was like a wall, never acknowledged and always there. She put a hand to his back. "You're not invisible to me."

Milo looked back at her. "I know."

HIs expression was serious, his face close to hers, but she never knew the right things to say in situations like these. She ruffled his hair. "Love you, you little cunt."

And for the first time in months, Milo smiled. The sight of it meant more to her than she had words for.

"Same to you," he said.

"What, that you love me or I'm a cunt?"

"The cunt part, mostly."

Graihagh let out a snort and gave him a playful shove, and Milo smiled again. They stayed there a long time, looking out over the water.

* * *

The next few weeks passed by much like they had the summer before, except this time they weren't working. She and Milo would have a quick breakfast and fly around the garden or read or take the Floo to Diagon Alley and look in the shop windows or go for ice cream. Sometimes his family would spend the day with the Malfoys and they'd go to a Tornadoes match or arrange Portkeys to faraway places like Buenos Aires, where they sat outside and drank café con leche, and Newfoundland where they watched for krakens. Graihagh's dad had taken her to the Lake District and Blackpool but she'd never been outside the UK before. She could barely wrap her head around the idea of traveling anywhere in the world in seconds.

Their evenings were quiet. Sometimes his parents were home, sometimes they weren't, but Graihagh and Milo usually kept to themselves, reading or playing games or just sitting in their rooms. Sometimes Thorfinn would come over but Graihagh always went up to her room those nights.

She was curled up in a chair by the fireplace late one night when there was coughing and a rustle of fabric and she looked up to see Thorfinn coming out of the fireplace with Livia's brother, who'd finished school the year before.

Graihagh looked over at Milo with her eyebrows raised, but Milo didn't seem at all surprised. He stood up and met them at the fireplace.

Thorfinn nodded to Graihagh. "She coming?"

Milo glanced back at her. "Listen, the three of us are going out. Do you want to come?"

Graihagh knew something was off. "Where, exactly?"

Milo locked eyes with the others. "Framlingham," he said.

"Are you serious? What's in Framlingham?"

"It's-we just need something there."

"What?"

Thorfinn made an impatient noise. "Are you coming or what?"

Graihagh just about opened her mouth to say no, but then she looked at Milo. She didn't like the thought of him being alone with the other two. "Yeah, I suppose so."

She stepped towards the doorway after Milo, but Thorfinn blocked her. "If you come with us, you cannot snitch, understood?"

Graihagh didn't like whatever it was they were up to, but the accusation rankled just the same. "I'm not a snitch."

Maybe it was because he'd known her so long, or maybe it was something in her eyes, but Thorfinn seemed satisfied. She followed him out to the back garden, where Milo was getting some spare brooms out of the shed. "We're going to fly there," he said.

Graihagh's hands were so shaky she could barely hold on to her broom. She'd never been much of a flier.

"You coming?" said Thorfinn when the others had mounted and risen into the air.

"I-yeah.." She took a breath and rose into the air with them, gripping her broom so hard her knuckles were white. She kept her head straight so she wouldn't look down, but the sight of the stars and the moon-bright clouds was even worse. She squinted until all she could see was Milo's back in front of her.

They flew for what felt like an hour, the air so cold her arms and legs were numb. When they dismounted Graihagh sank to the ground, hugging her arms to herself and shivering so badly her stomach hurt.

"I'm sorry, I should've told you to bring a cloak," said Milo. He pulled his off his own and draped it over her shoulders. "Here. That should help."

Graihagh gave him a grateful look. "Thanks Milo."

When she'd warmed up enough to stand, she looked around her. They were in a quiet churchyard, in a village that was asleep except for a few lights here and there. There was no sound but the rustling of trees and a car starting somewhere in the distance.

"We need you to keep a lookout," said Thorfinn. "You know how to whistle?"

Graihagh nodded.

"If there's anyone nearby, even if you just think you hear them, give a whistle, alright?"

The night air was cold but the back of her neck was hot. "What are you doing here?"

"It doesn't matter. Just keep watch."

Graihagh opened her mouth to ask again, but Thorfinn gave her a warning look, and she clamped it shut. She knew it wouldn't do any good to say anything. She couldn't stop them, whatever it was they were doing.

Milo and Travers tapped their wands to themselves and then to Thorfinn and in seconds they blended in with the churchyard around them so well that Graihagh saw only there shimmery outlines as they walked to the church doors.

"_Alohomora,_" whispered Travers, and Graihagh understood why they'd brought him along. He didn't have the Trace on him.

Graihagh's eyes and ears were alert for any sound, any movement, but her mind was with Thorfinn and Milo and whatever it was they were doing in the church, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew, had known for months really, ever since she'd seen the writing on the parchment.

_Bone of the father, unknowingly given. _

Her throat was tight and her eyes stung. What the hell were they doing?

Graihagh heard the dull thud of footsteps hitting the grass and saw their outlines racing towards her.

"Let's go," whispered Thorfinn. They mounted their brooms without lifting the charm off themselves, and Graihagh's eyes were so blurry with the stinging cold and the shock of what they'd done she could hardly see. All she could do was shout to them from time to time, to make sure she hadn't lost them, swallowing back rage and fear.

When they were back in Milo's garden she threw her broomstick against the shed and glared at them.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Do you have any idea how fucked up all this is?"

Thorfinn glared back at her. "We're not doing anything horrible."

"You are messing with serious dark magic and if it goes wrong-" she stopped, breathing hard, trying to clear her head. "I'm not making that potion for you."

Thorfinn glanced and Milo and she was gobsmacked by the realization that they'd been hoping she would.

"You-I mean-you think I was going to..." They were dark shadows looming over her and all she could do was get away from them. She turned and ran towards the house."

"Graihagh!" shouted Thorfinn's voice from behind her. She kept running. "Remember the oath."

Graihagh turned around. "What oath?"

"That oath you took when you joined. If you tell anyone what we're doing you'll regret it."

"What, it is going to kill me?"

Thorfinn's eyes were still narrowed but his voice was calmer. "No. But you'll wish it had."

"I don't care," said Graihagh, but this wasn't really true. She crossed her arms over her chest and walked more slowly, not really sure what she was doing.

"Going to run out on us like a little coward then? Your mother had ten times your guts."

Graihagh whipped around and glared at him. "What do you know about my mother?"

"You mean you don't know?"

Graihagh's head was pounding, with fury or fear she didn't know. "Know what?"

"She was one of the Dark Lord's first followers."

Graihagh stared him down, breathing hard. The ground was spinning. "You're lying. Don't you fucking lie to me."

"Graihagh." Thorfinn put a hand to her shoulder and his touch was so gentle, so unexpected, she didn't pull away.

"Listen, she wasn't a bad person. You're not a bad person. It's bullocks, all this business about them being evil."

"It really is," said Milo. "I mean, they go on about dark magic vs. light magic but it's all arbitrary, isn't it? Look at all the damage regular spells do."

Graihagh knew what he meant. Every hex Fenwick and McCulloch and their friends had used on him was taught in class.

"Look, dark magic is just magic they don't want us doing. That's all."

There had been times when Graihagh suspected the same thing, and it made sense, in a way. But there was still something she didn't understand. "But this wizard-why bring him back? What good could it do?"

"Think about it," said Milo, and his voice was earnest, almost avid. "How many people can come back hundreds of years later? He probably has all kinds of powers. Maybe he could even bring back the Dark Lord. This could change everything."

"But would it be a good change? And wouldn't it be horrible if You-Know...if the Dark Lord came back?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Look, they're lying to you Graihagh. It was all lies." Milo sounded earnest, but Graihagh thought she saw a flash of doubt in his eyes.

"Yeah. I don't know." She didn't know what to say, what to think. She was walking on the edge of something, afraid to mistep. "I'm not saying I'll make that potion though."

Milo glanced at Thorfinn and it was as though some tense thread that connected them had slackened. They put their brooms back in the shed and went into the sitting room, but Graihagh excused herself after a few glasses of butterbeer and went to bed, head too full of thoughts to sleep.

_She wasn't a bad person._

She wished so badly it were true.

* * *

Milo was waiting for her the next morning at breakfast. "Here," he said when they'd finished eating. He was holding something thin and green. "Thought you might be able to use this."

She took the boomslang skin and held it in the tips of her fingers, studying it in the light. "Cheers," she said. "But what do you want Polyjuice for?"

Milo shrugged. "Don't know. Just thought you might want to make some."

She did want to, for the challenge if nothing else. "I reckon I'd better get started then, if I want that finished before term starts."

She made to get up when she heard tapping at the window, and she shot out of her chair to let the owls in. She slit open the envelope, hands shaking, and closed her eyes a moment before scanning the parchment. There in a long row of "Ps" was one "O," for Potions. She let out a long breath. She'd managed an "E" in Herbology, but everything else was "Poor," including Charms.

"How did you do?" said Milo from across the table.

"Not great," she said. "You?" He showed her his letter. He'd managed a few Es, and an O for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but the rest were As and Ps, like her.

Graihagh didn't think he was entirely happy with this, and she wasn't sure what to say. She had just handed it back to him when a distraction arrived in the form of a third owl, an envelope in its beak. Milo took it and slit it open.

"It's from Mr. Malfoy," he said. "He wants us to come over for lunch."

Graihagh started washing and dressing that afternoon, anxious to be going somewhere, doing something. Once she'd made herself ready she sat down on her bed, trying to read, but she flipped through the pages without seeing any of the words. She was relieved when the clock showed quarter to the hour and it was time to go.

Milo was standing by the fireplace alone.

"Aren't your parents coming?"

"He just asked for us," said Milo. "They have another engagement anyway." He stepped into the fireplace. "Malfoy Manor!"

Graihagh followed, and when she'd stopped spinning he stepped out into the dining room, brushing the ashes off her dress robes as best she could, face hot, trying not to look at Mrs. Malfoy. She'd been in their world long enough that she knew it would have been more a lot more polite to fly or Apparate there and knock at the door, but they couldn't just yet. Strange, in a way, that they'd invited the two of them there, but she wanted it badly enough not to dwell on it.

Malfoy gestured them to sit down. Mrs. Malfoy and Draco had already been seated, along with Thorfinn, who must've been invited too.

"So, have your O.W.L results come yet?" said Malfoy as they started to eat.

"We got them just today," said Milo.

"Really? How many O.W.L.s did you get, if I might ask?"

"Seven," said Thorfinn. Graihagh had to stop herself from gaping at him, because he paid even less attention to his schoolwork than she did.

Milo glanced at Graihagh, and she knew he was mortified. "Five," he said.

"Well done," said Malfoy, and Graihagh thought he meant it. Milo's face relaxed. "They place far too much emphasis on those exams anyway. Genuine talent isn't something that can be measured. Fortunately there are others in the Ministry who agree with me. This need not be the end of any Ministerial ambitions you might have."

"You mean-you think I could still work there someday sir?"

"Certainly. Do you know Corban Yaxley?"

Milo nodded.

"He's a good friend of mine, works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I could have him put in a good word for you. And of course your father being on the Wizengamot can only count in your favour."

"Thank you sir," said Milo, and Graihagh saw a flash of something like hope in his eyes.

"I don't see why they stake our whole futures on those exams anyway," said Thorfinn. "Milo can do spells even the seventh-years can't do."

"Yeah, I've seen him," said Graihagh. "He's probably the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Milo flushed and lowered his eyes and Malfoy gave him an approving look. "I can't say I'm surprised."

The conversation shifted then, to mutual acquaintances and league standings, and Graihagh didn't say much. After they were finished pudding, a magnificent frosted sculpture of a unicorn that actually moved, Malfoy pushed his chair back from the table. Mrs. Malfoy excused herself, taking Draco by the hand.

"I have some more books that might interest you," he said. He beckoned them to follow him, and led them into a dark room. He muttered something, then lit a lamp on the ceiling and she saw they were in a study full of leather and polished wood. A stack of books appeared on the desk and Graihgh pulled up a book called _Moste Potente Potions_ and Milo found a book on magical theory. Thorfinn wasn't looking at the books at all, just examining a vial of clear liquid on one of the shelves.

Draco came running into the room just then, grabbing Thorfinn around the legs. Thorfinn grabbed him in a rugby tackle and Draco shrieked and laughed.

"Can they stay and play?" he said to his father.

Malfoy considered him a moment. "I suppose," he said. He looked up at Thorfinn and Milo, sparing Graihagh a small glance. "Why don't you stay all afternoon? Professor Snape will be joining us for dinner."

"Thank you sir," said Milo. "We'd like that."

"Why don't we go out in the garden? Then you can help Draco with his flying."

They followed Malfoy out into the back garden, where Mrs. Malfoy was examining rosebush with massive thorns, her robes flowing all around her. She smiled when she saw Thorfinn walk past with Draco on his shoulders.

Graihagh watched as Milo and Thorfinn positioned Draco on his broom and tossed balls for him to catch, but she got bored after awhile and went for a walk in the sprawling gardens.

There were so many different kinds of plants she didn't think she'd ever get tired of looking at them. Some she knew, but some she'd never seen before. She knelt down beside a plant with sprigs of white flowers, tracing the stems with her fingers. She picked a few and a shadow passed over her.

"What is it you have there?"

Graihagh looked up at the sound of Snape's voice. He was dressed in plain black robes, a traveling cloak over his shoulders despite the heat.

Unpleasant as he was-downright nasty at times really-she didn't really dread being around him the way she used to. He kept her busy during her detentions, but sometimes they'd talk as they worked, about the advantages of fresh ingredients over stored, or the best techniques for cutting roots. Things that bored most people, and fascinated them.

"Lus villish ny lheeannagh, I think," she said, remembering what her granny had called them.

Snape raised an eyebrow and looked down at the plant in her hand.

"I usually just call these meadowsweet," he said. "Much easier to remember."

Graihagh thought she liked the Manx name better, but didn't say anything. "My grandmother makes a tea out of these, for headaches and muscle cramps and things. I wonder-I mean, could you make a potion out of it? Make it stronger?"

Snape gave her a shrewd look. "I suppose you could. Many ordinary plants have been enhanced by magic that way. Just as many magical plants are used by Muggles."

That reminded Graihagh of a question she'd had for ages. "What makes them magic though? Why do they work for us and not them?"

"An interesting question. But no one really knows."

His expression was hard to read, and Graihagh wondered if he was annoyed with her. She didn't want him to be.

"We got our O.W.L results today," she said. "I got an Oustanding in Potions, sir."

"I thought perhaps you might," said Snape. "Then I suppose I'll see you in my N.E.W.T class?"

"Yes sir."

"And did you achieve O. in Charms and Herbology?"

Graihagh glanced away from him. "Just Herbology, sir."

Snape didn't say anything, but his disapproval was as palpable as the humidity, and she cringed.

"If you speak to Flitwick he'll likely allow you to join the fifth-years and retake the exam," said Snape. "But you'll need to work harder this time, do you understand?"

Graihagh nodded. "Yes sir. I will."

Snape didn't say anything to this, just walked beside a flowerbed, hands behind his back. He stopped to examine a white flower, tracing the petal with a long thin finger.

"Oleander, sir?"

"Yes."

Graihagh had just read about it in _Moste Potente Potions._ "It's used in poisons, isn't it?"

Snape was looking at her much too closely for her liking. He stared into her eyes, not blinking, and it was as though a film were playing in her mind, the book she'd just read and their conversation at lunch flashing in front of her.

"Indeed. It's very potent."

He'd put too much emphasis on the last word for her liking. She glanced away from him.

"Is there anything you wish to tell me, Miss Corlett?"

Graihagh looked back at him, all her fear breaking over her, the words on the edge of her tongue. "It's just...I think Milo and Thorfinn...well, they're..."

Then she thought of the oath, and her mother. Milo's words. _This could change everything._

"What is it, Miss Corlett?"

"It's-nothing. Never mind."

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yeah. Erm, I should probably go back to the others, they might be wondering where I am. If you'll excuse me, sir."

Graihagh walked back to to the Manor without looking back, but she knew Snape was watching her, and wondering.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: **The second half of this chapter will be a bit dark, but this won't be a depressing story, promise (although it will be heavy on the feels :)

I don't remember if I've mentioned this or not, but I've added some references to the Hogwarts: A Mystery game for those who are fans, since there is some overlap in the timeline. The cursed vaults are a reference to the game. They won't affect anything in the story.

* * *

Snape couldn't say he was shocked, exactly. He'd known for months, years really, that it would come to this. That the three of them would get in over their heads with magic they didn't understand and put everyone in danger.

Perhaps the most troubling part of the whole thing was Lucius, his hints and intimations of a new Dark Lord, his slow-burning resentment towards Dumbledore. How much did he know, what was the extent of his involvement? Lucius was a decent man; plotting with teenagers was beneath him. He didn't want it driving a wedge between them, spoiling their friendship. More than anything, he dreaded giving himself away. His mission was all he had left. He was nothing without it.

He was so deep in his own head he didn't notice the tabby cat on his front stoop until he'd stepped on its tail.

The cat gave an angry yowl and hissed at him, eyes narrowed. Snape glared back at it, but his guilt got the better of him and he stooped down to scratch it behind the ears. The cat stiffened as though startled, then consented to let him rub the side of its face with his hand, purring a little. Snape stroked the soft fur on its back, remembering how his mother used to feed the strays out the front door. He sat down and set it in its lap.

He expected it to nestle against him and purr, but it jumped out of his lap like it was made of spikes. Sweet Merlin, even the strays hated him.

As smoothly as animation the cat transformed into a woman and there was Minerva, standing in front of him looking distinctly ruffled.

Snape's face was burning. "I-what-why didn't you-I set you on my lap!"

"Believe me, Severus, that was no more enjoyable for me," said Minerva. "Though not as unpleasant as you stepping on my tail."

"Accident," Snape muttered.

"That's quite alright."

For a few seconds they simply stood and stared at each other, the awkwardness as thick as the smell of river water, until Snape realized something.

"How long have you been following me exactly?"

He could've sworn a faint flush was creeping up Minerva's cheeks. "Every summer since you started. Dumbledore's idea, not mine," she added, voice raised slightly, because Snape had just opened his mouth to say something.

Snape said it anyway. "So you've been spying on me?"

"Not spying, exactly," said Minerva, a hint of apology in her voice. "I was checking on your welfare."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "My welfare?"

"Well it's just...Dumbledore seems to think...well, you've always had a rather gloomy disposition-"

"So he's worried I'll try to...take an early retirement, shall we say?"

"Something like that."

Minerva met his eyes a second, as though she'd wondered that herself, but Snape glanced away from her. He didn't know what to think. It was just like the old man, to spy on his secret weapon, make sure he didn't take himself out before he'd outlived his usefulness.

"Well, as you can see I'm still here, so I don't think it was necessary," said Snape, struggling to keep his voice even.

"I'm sorry, Severus, perhaps I should have been more forthright with you. Although hasn't always been easy for me too, you know. You're not the only one I've had to keep an eye on."

Snape looked at her closely. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I've been watching the Potter boy. He lives with his aunt and uncle, you know. Muggles. The worst kind. They treat him horribly, Severus."

The boy's name cut across his skin like nails. His sympathy was a fleeting thing, a flash in the pan, gone as quickly as it had come.

The silence was heavy; perhaps Minerva remembered how he'd felt about the boy's father. "Well," she said. "I suppose I should get going." She stepped off the stoop and turned back to him. "I almost forgot," she said. "I saw two of your students leaving Borgin and Burkes the other day. Mr. Selwyn and Mr. Rowle."

Snape stood up straighter. "What did they buy, did you see?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. Something small and thin, by the looks of it."

"How small, exactly?"

"It's hard to say. A foot, perhaps. It was wrapped up."

Snape had no idea what it might be. "I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Minerva."

Minerva nodded, and she'd just turned to leave again when he thought of something.

"What were you doing in Knockturn Alley?"

Now Minerva was blushing, he was sure of it. "There's an establishment there that I go to on occasion."

There was a note of warning in her voice, a certain finality, but Snape wasn't about to give up that easily. "And which would that be?"

Minerva stood up straighter, looking indignant. Then something in her face softened. "Madam Fortuna's."

"The Seer? After all that business about Divination being a load of nonsense?"

"Oh it's just for fun, you know. A bit of a diversion."

Snape smirked and Minerva looked alarmed.

"You won't tell any of the students, will you? And especially not Trelawney?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," said Snape, trying to keep a straight face. The thought of what Trelawney would say if she ever found out was just too rich. He practically owned her now. He'd make a point of reminding her every time she got it into her head to come down hard on his Quidditch players.

Minerva gave him a rather sharp look, but her eyes were smiling slightly. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, Severus. Do enjoy the rest of your holiday."

"Likewise, Minerva," said Snape. He watched her walk down the street and spin into the air.

* * *

Snape had just unpacked his books and clothes and photographs when there was a knock at his door and he opened it to find Filch standing there, holding his cat. "Welcome back, Professor. Did you enjoy your holiday?"

"It was tolerable," said Snape. "I didn't have any students to deal with, anyway."

Filch gave him a knowing smirk and Snape appreciated the fact that he didn't have to pretend not to loathe children when they were together.

"Did you do any fishing?" said Snape.

Filch's face became more animated. "I did, sir, caught a river lamprey."

"Really? Those are quite rare."

"So I've heard. I saved one for yeh." He pulled a jar out of his coat pocket and handed it to Snape, who held it to his face, examining the silver lamprey from every angle. The eyes and the liver could be used in his potions.

"I'm sure I'll make use of this," he said, the closest thing to a thank-you he could manage.

Filch grunted in acknowledgement. "I have a message from the Headmaster," he said. "He wishes to see you in his office."

Snape had been expecting this. He nodded and set the jar on a shelf before making his way to the stone gargoyle on the seventh floor.

"Exploding bonbons," he muttered.

Dumbledore was just emerging from the Pensieve when Snape walked in, forehead creased and eyes distant, as though deep in thought.

He glanced up when he saw Snape and gestured for him to sit down. His skin was just a smidge darker than it had been at the end of the term.

"I had a rather enjoyable seaside holiday," said Dumbledore as he settled himself at his desk, as though he knew what Snape had been thinking.

"Devon?" asked Snape, thinking that perhaps he might have gone to visit his old friends Nicolas and Perenelle.

"Blackpool Pleasure Beach. I do enjoy the Flying Machines."

Snape had and image of Dumbledore riding the Flying Machines and waving his hands in the air like absurd child and had absolutely no idea what to say, but Dumbledore didn't seem to expect him to. "But how was your holiday Severus?"

"It was tolerable, I suppose," said Snape in an offhand way, brushing away the pointless pleasantries. He had more serious matters to discuss. "I ran into Miss Corlett at Malfoy Manor."

Dumbledore sat up straighter, hands together, and waited for him to continue.

"She hinted to me that Mr. Selwyn and Mr. Rowle are planning something. And Minerva saw the two of them leaving Borgin and Burkes."

"Did she see what they bought?"

"No. Just that it was small."

The lines in Dumbledore's face deepened and his expression turned serious. "Well," he said. "Perhaps we ought to tell the prefects and the other Heads of House to be on the alert for any unusual activity. Which they should do in any case, given the situation with the Cursed Vaults."

Snape nodded to show he'd understood.

"We must not reveal too much, however. They must not know you suspect them, or that you are attempting to interfere."

Of course not. Lie, dissemble, deceive, only do as much for people as you could get away with without breaking cover, that was his lot now. And yet there was some strange comfort in that. It was safer to be feared, to be hated. He had no one's affection to lose.

"I understand, Headmaster."

Dumbledore was quiet a moment. "Did you see Lucius over the summer?"

Snape understood what he was asking. "I did. But what the extent of his involvement is, I cannot say. I have tried persuading him to confide in me, but so far he has told me very little. It's possible he doesn't know, or it may that he doesn't trust me as much as he used to."

Dumbledore gave him a sharp look. "He must trust you. That is essential. Tell him whatever is necessary. And do what you can to gain the trust of your students. Find out what they are up to, without letting them think you suspect them. It could be nothing, of course, but there is always the possibility that the safety of our students is at risk."

That possibility had occured to Snape as well, though why he cared so much, he couldn't say. "Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore seemed satisfied with this. His shoulders slackened and he popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth.

"Is Professor Chumley returning?" said Snape, not bothering to hide his disdain.

"He put in his notice of resignation at the end of last term. The situation with the Cursed Vaults last year seems to left him a bit shaken."

Snape made a small disparaging noise as Dumbledore chewed on another sherbet lemon. They'd hardly managed to find anyone decent since he'd been a student, and they never lasted more than a year. And then the realization hit him like a rampaging Hippogriff and he felt like a complete idiot.

"The job's jinxed, isn't it?"

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "I'm surprised it took you this long, Severus," he said, a comment that, from anyone else, would have gotten a raised eyebrow at the very least. "But yes, it is jinxed. It seems Tom Riddle did not take kindly to being turned down for the position."

Snape had never heard his real name before, and he looked at Dumbledore with undisguised respect, that he dared use it. It made the Dark Lord seem weaker somehow, fallible.

"The students seem to be under the impression that you are rather infatuated with the Dark Arts," Dumbledore went on, eyes smiling. "I think it would be a wise move on your part to encourage these rumours." He gave Snape a piercing look, as though he knew something of the fascination the Dark Arts held for him still. Snape nodded.

"How are you getting along otherwise, Severus?" Dumbledore held out the bowl of sherbet lemons and Snape took one, running it between his fingers.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," he said quietly. He popped the sherbet lemon into his mouth. "Well enough that I don't think it necessary for me to be watched," he added, tensing a little at his boldness.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. He was quiet a moment. "Perhaps I should have placed more trust in you. But I know how Lily's death shattered you."

Snape looked away from him and shifted in his seat, but there was something in his voice, some softness that made him wonder. Was it possible that the old man actually cared? That he was more than just a pawn?

"You've done well so far, Severus."

Snape was startled by how closely his words echoed the Dark Lord's. And yet he'd said them differently. There was no callous smirk, no hint of a threat.

"Thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, I suppose we should head to dinner. Some of the other staff will be arriving this evening."

Snape followed Dumbledore out of his office, and when they'd reached the Entrance Hall Professor Sinistra was standing there, in robes of deep green, holding a suitcase that had been decorated with pictures of the constellations.

"Headmaster," she said, inclining her head. Dumbledore shook her hand and she turned to Snape.

"Hello, Professor. Did you have a good holiday?"

"Yes," he said, although he hadn't. "Did you?"

"It was wonderful. But I'm very much looking forward to teaching again."

"As am I," he said, although he wasn't.

She smiled. "Well," she said, "I hope you have a good term."

"You as well," he said, and here, finally, was something true. She smiled and nodded and Snape watched her as she climbed the stairs, not really knowing what to feel. She was beautiful.

Sprout and Flitwick were sitting at the staff table with Minerva. Flitwick raised his hand and Snape shook it, then turned to Sprout, who pressed his hand in hers. They were full, warm, calloused.

"Good to see you again, Professor."

"Likewise," he said, with some sincerity. He glanced at Minerva as he sat down.

"I didn't get the chance to ask you how your holiday was."

She gave him a dry smile. "Oh, it was good, I suppose. I spent some time with my brother and his family."

"And found time for a few side excursions," said Snape with the smallest smile.

"That too," said Minerva crisply, but her mouth was turned up at the corners.

They sat and chatted as they ate, and when Flitwick and Sprout went to their rooms to unpack their things, he approached Minerva, the person on the staff in whom he had the most confidence, aside from Dumbledore.

"The Headmaster thinks it appropriate to keep a close watch on some of the students this term," he said, not bothering to say their names aloud, because she already knew they were his, and he didn't want to draw any more attention to it. "If you see anything suspicious, anything at all, you should report it to him immediately."

She gave him a firm nod. "I certainly will," she said. They locked eyes then, and there was none of the suspicion that he had seen there when he'd first arrived, and he was struck by the realization that Minerva trusted him.

* * *

The last night of holidays, Graihagh was woken by a voice yelling down the hall, loud and brash. It was coming closer and before she knew what was happening there was a flash of light from the hall with dark figure standing in the middle

"Where is it?" the voice shouted. Graihagh sat up and stared at Milo's father, half-asleep, not understanding.

"The Felix, where is it? _Accio!_" But none of the vials flew into his hands. After weeks of practice, Graihagh had finally managed a charm to keep them from being Summoned.

The tip of his wand jabbed her chest and his hot sweet breath blew across her face. "I know you have it," he whispered. "Give it to me. Give it to me or I will use this."

"Now!"

All Graihagh could see was the point of his wand. She watched, waited for the jet of green light, but nothing happened. Her wand was on the nightstand but she was too afraid to move even her eyes towards it. There was no way out, she had to get the vial. There was nothing else she could do. Her hands were so stiff, she could only pray she didn't drop it. Glass was so fragile. She wished she'd put it in something else. She was so fucking stupid.

Milo's father snatched it out of her hands. He twisted the cap off and reached into the pocket of his robes for another vial, some milky green liquid, and poured a few drops into the Felix. Graihagh watched the gold liquid swirl with a frantic intensity, and she understood. He was making it more potent. Sort of fascinating, really. She wondered how it worked. He tipped his head back and poured a few drops into his mouth.

The potion didn' t seem to be doing anything. He just stood there, twisting the cap back on the potion and putting it back into his pocket.

His eyes changed so quickly Graihagh jumped back and clutched the sheets to her chest. They were wide, staring, manic. A bark of a laugh erupted from his throat and he tipped his head back.

And before Graihagh understood what was happening, he was shaking, and jets of light were shooting out of him, knocking over vases and blowing the wardrobe into pieces. Someone was screaming, was it her?

"_Stupefy!_"

Graihagh braced for the impact that never came.

"Graihagh!"

Milo. She looked up and saw him standing there with his wand held out in front of him. His father was splayed on the floor, eyes closed, breathing fast.

"Milo-what?"

"Pack up your things," he said, voice breaking under the strain his forced calm. "Meet me at the fireplace as soon as you can."

Hands stiff, she changed into her robes and stuffed the rest of her things, her clothes and cauldron and vials of Polyjuice into her trunk, mercifully remembering the charm that would shrink it. She was shaking too hard to pull it. She grabbed Scooter from his hiding place under the bed and pushed him into his carrier, trying to say a few soothing words, but nothing came out.

Milo's mother was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, laughing hysterically and talking to herself. She tugged on her robes as she passed. She was looking at her but didn't seem to see her. Graihagh pulled away from her.

Milo was waiting for her by the fireplace, with that hard, tight look it sometimes got, but his eyes were bright. "Diagon Alley!" he shouted, dusting himself with green powder. Clutching tightly to her trunk and Scooter's cage, Graihagh did the same.

The Leaky Cauldron was empty except for a single warlock up at the bar. She supposed it must have been about closing time.

"Two rooms, please." said Milo. The barman, the one she remembered from so long ago, looked at them sharply but took his galleons and gave them each a key.

They trudged upstairs. Milo fumbled with his key and Graihagh put a hand to his shoulder.

She had no idea what to say. Asking him if he was alright seemed like such a stupid question, when he was so obviously shattered by the enormity of what had just happened.

"Milo-"

He shrugged her off and narrowed his eyes at her. "Did you give him the Felix?"

Graihagh wracked her brains for some sort of explanation, but her guilty expression must've given her away.

"What the fuck did you give it to him for?" Milo's face was bright red and his voice was cracking like he might cry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know-"

"Just stay the fuck away from me!"

Milo slammed the door behind him so hard the walls shook.

Fast footfalls were coming up the stairs and Graihagh turned to see Tom the barman shuffling down the hall.

"What the bloody hell is going on up here? I can hear you all the way from the bar."

Part of Graihagh wanted to shout at him to mind his own business and the rest of her wanted to sink underneath the floorboards. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"It had better not, or I'll chuck you both out."

With a last reproachful look he turned and shuffled back down the stairs.

Graihagh sank into her bed with her clothes on, writhing and twisting and burying her face in her pillow, seeing nothing, thinking nothing, overcome by the guilt that was wracking her body, that demanded a release that never came. She didn't fall asleep until there was light outside her window.

* * *

Milo didn't say a word to her at breakfast. His expression was blank, fixed, empty, like he'd closed himself off from her and everyone else.

She didn't ask how they were getting to King's Cross. Neither of them had any Muggle money and there was nothing for it but to walk, in her too-small Muggle clothes and carrying her shrunken trunk in one hand, Milo alongside her, their cat carriers bouncing against their legs. By the time she got on the train she was knackered, and sank into her seat and slept for hours.

She wished she hadn't. She went straight to her dormitory after the Welcoming Feast but she couldn't get to sleep. Once the other girls were breathing deeply she pushed the covers off herself and walked into the common room.

Milo was there, staring at the fire. Part of her wanted to turn around and slink back to her room, but she couldn't just leave him there.

She sat down on the opposite side of the sofa, leaning fowards a little. Milo didn't look at her.

"I'm so, so sorry," she said. "If I had any idea there's no way I would've left it there."

Milo stared into the fire and said didn't say anything, and Graihagh wracked her brains for some way to put things right, as much as they ever could be. Then she thought of her own mother, and the thing she'd knew they had in common. She didn't know why she'd never told him.

"My mum had the same problem."

Milo spared her a small glance. "Yeah, well, you don't remember any of it, do you? You don't have a clue what it's like."

"No. You're right. I don't. I'm sorry."

She leaned forwards and hugged her arms to herself Milo turned back to the fire and they were quiet a long time, until Milo's head drooped down to his chest. He gave a gasp and sat up straighter, but after awhile he fell asleep, head slumped on the arm of the sofa. He was nearly as tall as she was now, but he looked so much smaller.

She went back to her dormitory and pulled the duvet off her bed, bunching it up and carrying it back to the common room. She draped it over him, tucking the edges in around him. She smoothed his hair back from his face.

Milo opened his eyes to look at her, but his expression was hard to read. She went back to her bed and tried to sleep.

Graihagh's duvet was lying on her bed when she woke up the next morning. She supposed Milo must've used a charm to send it back to her. She thought he'd have gone up to the Great Hall for breakfast ahead of her, but he was waiting for her in the common room.

"Alright?" she said, searching his face.

Milo nodded. "Yeah," he said. He met her eyes a second, and they walked to breakfast together.

Snape came sweeping down the Slytherin table, handing out timetables. Graihagh looked down at hers and saw three classes, Potions, Herbology, and a fifth-year Charms class.

"Potions and Herbology are fine," said Snape. "I've spoken to Flitwick and he has allowed you to retake Charms, but he expects you to put more effort in this year, do you understand?"

Graihagh nodded.

Snape looked back at her with that unblinking stare again. Graihagh looked away.

Snape handed a piece of parchment to Milo. "Herbology, Charms, and Ancient Runes are all fine," he said. "I notice you aren't taking any art classes."

Milo just grunted something about an "Acceptable."

"If you'd like I could speak to Professor Iridis. She may allow you to take an advanced class."

"That's ok, sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Milo, and maybe it was because there was an edge to his voice, but Snape said no more about it, and moved on to someone else.

Her first class that term was N.E.W.T Potions. Neither Thorfinn nor Milo or any of her other friends had made in in, so she walked there alone, with her potions kit and flasks tucked away in her bag. She still had her copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_, but for some reason Snape hadn't set any books for his class.

When they were all seated, Snape stood in front of them, looking round at them all.

"You are here because you have proven your ability in the composition and use of magical potions," he said, his voice less stiff, less stilted than it'd been years ago, when he'd stood in front of her as a first-year. "But lest you should become complacent, I should warn you that the N.E.W.T level work will be far more advanced, and at times, dangerous. I therefore expect nothing but less than your best efforts." He paused a moment to let this sink in, his eyes resting a second on Graihagh.

"Now," he continued, sweeping over to the blackboard, where some instructions appeared with the flick of the wand, "For our first lesson we will be making the Draught of Living Death, a potion so potent that a single small dose is all that is needed to put the drinker into a deathlike slumber. Brewed incorrectly, it is more likely to bring on actual death, so you must pay close attention to what you are doing. The instructions for this potion are on the blackboard. You have one hour. Begin."

Graihagh added wormwood and asphodel to the cauldron, giving it two gentle stirs as she angled the cauldron with her other hand, the movements flowing from her arms through muscle memory. She let it simmer as she sliced the Valerian roots and crushed the Sopophorous bean.

When she'd added the ingredients and given it seven clockwise stirs, adding a counter-clockwise stir as Snape's instructions had suggested, the potion turned the palest pink. Graihagh stared down at it and breathed it in. The smell was mellow and sweet, not at all earthy or sharp. She wondered what it would be like to just sleep for years on end. She didn't think she'd ever do it, but it couldn't hurt to have some on hand. Just in case.

She glanced up at Snape. He was marking essays and scowling. Everyone else at her table was bent over a cauldron. She reached into bag and pulled out a 'd just dipped it into the cauldron when Snape's shadow passed over her. He was bloody everywhere.

"I see you've finished," he said, his voice cool, his expression unreadable. "And you've even put some in a flask already. Put your name on it and bring it up to my desk for marking."

Graihagh stared back at him a moment, hoping maybe he would leave, and she could still tuck a bit of the potion into her bag, but of course he didn't. There was nothing else for it. She did as he told her. He watched her as she set the flask on his desk and sat back down.

"The rest you can Vanish."

Graihagh glanced at him, then back at the cauldron. She didn't want to. But he was watching her. She raised her wand and muttered the incantation. "_Evanesco._"

Nothing happened, and Graihagh's face burned. She didn't know that she wanted to impress him exactly, but she didn't want him to see her fail at a fifth-year spell.

Snape smirked. "You put the emphasis on the third syllable. Try again. And wave your wand, don't jab it."

"_Eva_nes_co," _muttered Graihagh. Nothing. She tried again. This time it vanished. She'd never done the spell right before.

Snape took a long last look at her cauldron and swept around the room, criticizing nearly everyone about something, though with rather less sarcasm than he used in his regular classes. Mostly he went into detail about where they'd gone wrong.

When everyone had turned in their flasks he dismissed them. Graihagh packed up her things quickly and was the first out the door, ignoring the sound of her name over the talk of the other students. She couldn't bear to face Snape just then.

She had another free period before lunch, so she sat down in the common room. After awhile Livia sat down next to her. Her long dark hair cascaded around her in waves and she was wearing long flowing robes and a silver and green pendant in the shape of a dragon, looking like a picture of Morgana she'd seen in a book once.

"Did you have a good holiday?" she said.

"Yeah, it was alright," said Graihagh, because there was no way she was going to go into any detail. "You?"

Livia absently played with the sleeves of her robes. "I got all the O. I needed to get into the Ministry, so my mum's happy."

"So is that what you're going to do?"

Livia's expression was more serious, almost sombre. "No."

"But won't she cut you off?"

"Probably. But Professor Sprout has a friend who's willing to take me on as an apprentice."

"That's great," said Graihagh, and she meant it. She knew her well enough to know she'd be much happier that way, than she would've been at the Ministry.

They were quiet awhile. Livia pulled out some parchment and an Ancient Runes textbook, but all Graihagh could think about was Livia's father. How he'd been a Death Eater, just like her mother. .

"Do you ever think about the war?"

Livia looked up and made a face at her. "Why would I think about that?"

"I don't know," said Graihagh. Livia went back to her parchment.

"My mum was one of his followers," said Graihagh before she could stop herself.

Livia's head shot up. "Really?"

"Yeah." Their eyes met, and Graihagh knew she could ask the question she'd had for months. "Do you ever think about...I mean...why they did it?"

"It was a war," said Livia. "They were just trying to protect themselves, I suppose." Her voice was flat, expressionless, as though she was just reciting something she'd memorized a long time ago, but Graihagh hung on to her words anyway.

She sank back into the sofa and stared at the lake water outside the window. What Livia had said about the war made sense. She just didn't understand why her mother hadn't kept fighting.

* * *

Graihagh couldn't sleep that night, so she went out into the common room to sit by the fire. She wasn't at all surprised to see Thorfinn and Milo there.

"...don't know if he exists in a corporeal form," Milo was saying. "Do you think the potion could still work?"

Graihagh's heart was in her throat. She'd known for weeks what they were up to but the shock of it never lessened.

Milo and Thorfinn stopped talking and looked up at her as she sat down. Milo glanced at Thorfinn and they had a silent conversation with their eyes.

"If I show you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?" said Milo.

Something told Graihagh this was very serious. "I promise.

Thorfinn glanced at Milo again. Milo nodded and went to the boys' dormitories, and when he came back he pulled a small thin package out of his robes.

"Remember that dagger Norfolk invented?" he said. "The one that could cut through anything?"

Graihagh's heart was pounding now. "Yeah."

"Well, we found it at Borgin and Burkes."

"What?"

"Cost us a fortune, too," said Thorfinn. "But it was worth it. I've never seen anything like this."

He peeled back a bit of the plain brown wrapping to reveal a thin strip of silver.

Graihagh stared down at it, then back at them. "What are you going to do with this?"

"Don't know," said Milo. "But it's nice to have, you know?"

Thorfinn took the package from Milo and glanced around the empty common room. "Watch this," he whispered. He pulled the dagger out of its packaging and swiped it in front of a globe that was sitting on the table. The cut was so sharp, so quick, the two halves fell to the table almost instantly, their edges smooth.

"Now watch," said Thorfinn. He raised his wand. "_Reparo_!" The globe stayed broken. He did it two more times, and still the two halves lay there on the table like they'd always been there.

"See?" he said, wrapping the dagger back in the paper. "Can't be mended."

"That'll be part of its magic then?" said Graihagh.

"Looks that way."

He handed the dagger back to Milo and they talked about other things, but Graihagh couldn't follow any of their conversation over the battle raging in her head.

They were just curious, that was all. It was just another fascinating object to them. But the potion...but surely they wouldn't stoop so low. A tiny cut would do it.

_Tell Snape._

But she'd promised them. And who knew what would happen to Milo. Maybe he'd be chucked out of school and forced to live with his parents all year round, and the thought of it was more than she could stand.

Besides, it was so powerful. No one would ever touch them again.

"I think I'm going to bed," said Graihagh.

"Night," said Milo. She felt their eyes on her as she left.

She settled into her bed but kept starting at the smallest noises, and had trouble falling asleep, and she stayed in bed so late the next morning she almost missed Herbology. Professor Sprout lectured them about something or other, she didn't really know what. Cate was trying to catch her eye, and Graihagh was trying not to look at her. As soon as she was finished pruning the Venomous Tentacula she stuffed her book and parchment into her bag and hurried away, leaving Milo and Livia behind.

Cate's voice called out from behind her. "Graihagh, wait!"

Graihagh couldn't really pretend not to have heard her. She turned around.

"Why didn't you write to me? What's going on?"

She wanted to bury her head in her shoulder and tell her everything, but how could she? There was no way she'd understand any of it. She was someone from another life.

"Nothing. I was just busy, that's all."

Cate's face fell and confusion clouded her eyes. "Graihagh, what's wrong?"

Graihagh's voice rose. "I told you, it's nothing."

"Can we go somewhere and talk? Please?"

"I can't."

"Why-"

"I just can't, okay? Leave me alone."

Graihagh turned and hurried back up to the castle without looking at her. She could hear fast footfalls behind her and knew Cate was running to catch up.

"Watch where you're going, Mudblood!"

Graihagh whipped around. Milo was rubbing his arm and glaring at Cate, face twisted into a scowl. Cate was staring back at him, mouth open, looking at him as though she'd never seen him before, and Graihagh understood how she felt. She'd seen him get like this before, but never over something so small, and never at someone like Cate. She couldn't believe what he'd said. And yet she couldn't bring herself to do anything. She just stood there.

Theodora rushed up to Milo and pointed her wand to his chest. "Apologize to her!"

"Going to jinx me then?" said Milo, breathing hard, voice shaking underneath his forced toughness.

Theodora glanced around. A small crowd of people had gathered around them. She lowered her wand.

"I'll do it," said a voice, and McCulloch raised his wand. "_Tarantellegra!" _

Milo's arms and legs went into a frantic, frenzied dance that made a jarring contrast with his shocked face. The crowd around them broke out in laughter.

Graihagh wanted to strike him for all those years he'd tormented Milo, curse him til he couldn't see straight, but she didn't dare do it in front of so many people.

"_Finite!_" she shouted, pointing her wand at Milo. He bent over, trying to catch his breath. She stared hard at him so she wouldn't see Cate

Theodora pointed her wand at Milo's bent figure. "Twenty points from Slytherin," she said in a low, fierce voice. "And don't you ever insult my friends again." She glared at him a moment longer. Then she looked at Graihagh, and her expression changed. She looked more hurt than angry.

"How could you?" she said in a low voice. "How could you just stand there and let him say that to her? Look at her."

Graihagh glanced at Cate. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she looked as shocked and lost as though she'd been shipwrecked in freezing water and didn't know where she was. Graihagh felt like she was drowning there with her. But still she didn't do a thing.

Theodora stared into Graihagh's eyes as though demanding an answer, and Graihagh couldn't look at her. She just stared past her, head spinning, and after what felt like forever Theodora stowed her wand back in her pocket and put her arms around Cate, whose shoulders were slumped. Graihagh watched as they walked back to the castle together, unable to move, barely able to breathe.

Livia rounded on them. "What the hell Milo? You can't just go round calling people Mudblood."

"Your brother does it," muttered Milo.

"Yeah, well, my brother's full of shit, just like the rest of my family." She glared at him, then at Graihagh, before turning on her heels and walking back up to the castle.

Graihagh went back to her dormitory and slept the rest of the day.

* * *

Graihagh cringed when she walked into the Potions classroom five minutes late, bracing herself for the lecture, the cold sneer. But Snape looked more disturbed than angry, and she didn't know why.

Graihagh glanced at the instructions on the board. Something about an elixir to induce euphoria. She didn't really give a shit. She pulled out some of the ingredients and just stared at the cauldron, chucking a few things in every now and then to make it look like she was doing something.

"Time," said Snape, getting up from his desk. He stopped at Graihagh's cauldron last.

"And what is this supposed to be, Miss Corlett?" he said, staring down at the watery green liquid in Graihagh's cauldron.

Graihagh just shrugged, but the blood was rushing to her head and she was tense, on edge.

Snape put his hands on the table. "I asked you a question, Miss Cor-"

"I don't know what it is. I don't have a bloody clue."

Snape stared at her a second before he stood up and faced the everyone. "Class dismissed. Bring a flask to my desk for testing."

Graihagh shoved her potions kit into her bag and stood up, but Snape blocked her her path. "I wish to speak with you, Miss Corlett."

"Yeah, well I don't," said Graihagh through clenched teeth. It was like poking a sleeping badger, mouthing off to Snape like that, but she didn't care.

"What are you looking at, Miss Fawcett?" said Snape. Graihagh turned to see one of the Ravenclaws and her friends gawking at them. They hurried away.

Snape lowered his voice. "I am trying to help you," he said. "And if you have any sense in that head of yours you'll let me."

"I don't need your help." Graihagh pushed past him, swinging her schoolbag so hard it hit the table in front of her and smashed some of her flasks.

"_Fuck!_" Graihagh slumped down to the floor, rubbing her face with her hands and let out the low frustrated noise building in her chest, not thinking, not caring, just venting everything that was building up inside of her.

"Miss Corlett!"

"Get away from me!" Her voice was breaking. She was losing it in front of Snape, and she didn't care.

"Miss Corlett." Snape was kneeling in front of her, his voice was lower, calmer, and it brought her back to herself, to the classroom, to the space around her. She looked through her fingers at him.

"If you tell me what's going on, I can help you-"

"No you can't."

Snape put a hand to her shoulder. "Look at me."

His voice was so earnest it startled her. She lowered her hand and looked into his dark eyes, breathing deeply to calm herself.

"Nothing you've done thus far is irreversible. You can still change course, do you understand me? It's not too late."

Graihagh didn't understand. Did he regret being close to the Dark Lord, and was trying to warn her? Or was he simply talking about her shoddy academic performance, and encouraging her to use her talents for their cause? Who was right? Nothing made sense.

Snape stared into her eyes again, and she saw flashes of Cate's face, a gleam of silver, golden potion, Thorfinn's words about her mother. Snape's eyes widened.

"Miss Corlett," he said, his voice low, earnest. "Whatever you have to tell me...anything you have to give me, any potions...you will not be punished for it. But you must tell me now. Fail to tell me and the consequences could be severe."

Graihagh wondered if he meant it. She opened her mouth. She wanted to tell him everything. But she couldn't.

"I don't have anything, sir," she said.

Snape looked like he wanted to say more, but seemed to change his mind. He backed away from her and stood up. Graihagh slid her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the door.

"Miss Corlett."

Graihagh turned around.

He stared straight at her, and there was nothing of his usual expression, the detachment bordering on mockery, his thin lips that curled in the threat of a smirk, the cold eyes that scorched. He looked tired and sad and human. "Do not do anything you'll regret."

Graihagh nodded to show she'd understood. But she'd already done things she regretted. There was really no way out now.

* * *

The fire in the common room had burned so low it didn't light Milo's face. She could just see the faint outline of his profile, green in the dim light of the lake water outside the windows.

"So you have the Polyjuice and the Felix?" said Thorfinn.

"Yeah," said Graihagh. "I've got enough Polyjuice to last us til we get to London."

They were quiet a long time.

"I think it should be tomorrow," said Thorfinn.

The air around them changed. It was heavy, thick, suffocating. Graihagh could hardly breathe.

"I don't think we should use the Felix," said Milo.

Graihagh could just see Thorfinn's head turning toward Milo. "Why not?"

"Because it's dangerous."

"Not in small doses. We can't risk getting caught."

Milo didn't say anything to this. was leaning foward, his arms crossed over his chest, and Graihagh knew he was trying not to remember his father.

Thorfinn sat up straighter and stretched. "I think I'm going to turn in then," he said, and Graihagh was struck by the uncertainty in his deep voice, the seriousness.

"'Night," she said, voice almost a whisper.

As soon as Thorfinn had gone, Milo put his face in his hands and let out a keening moan that caught in his throat.

Graihagh didn't understand. He'd seemed so sure of himself earlier. She wondered if he was upset about having to take the Felix.

And then she remembered his father, how he'd laughed and shook until the magic came shooting out of him and destroyed everything it touched. And the horror of it slammed into her in waves, one after another, never letting up.

She put her arms around him and he collapsed on her shoulder as she buried her face in his hair.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **Credit to hbprincealice on Tumblr for pointing out the protective intent behind Vulnera Sanentur, in an excellent piece of meta.

* * *

Snape was fifteen the night he invented Sectumsempra. He was lying on his bed in Spinner's End, his lit wand held in front of an open book.

"_Sectum_," he muttered. "Severed." He picked up his quill and jotted it down. "_Semper."_ Always. Always severed. Sectum-semper. Sectumsempra."

He paced the floor of his bedroom, trying to block out his father's shouting, slashing his wand in front of his arm like a sword.

"Sectumsep-Sectum-Sectumsempra." Nothing. He swore under his breath and tried again, slashing his wand harder and shouting it. "_Sectumsempra_!"

There was something there, that time. The lightest twinge, a whisper of magic against his skin. But it wasn't enough. He needed to _feel_ it.

He closed his eyes and imagined he was back on the Hogwarts grounds, outnumbered, cornered, trapped.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

The thrill that went through him as gash tore through his skin was so strong it drowned out any pain. He sat down on his bed and picked up his quill, writing quickly, excitedly. "_Sectumsempra!" _

The power of the incantation flowed through his arm just writing the words. So fucking satisfying, the sight of them. He wrote underneath it:

"_For enemies._"

He closed his eyes and imagined slashing his father's face. He would never get away with it, not now anyway, but it made it easier, when he had to listen to him shouting at his mother, or when he grabbed him and shook him, just knowing that he could.

Blood dripped onto the threadbare rug and rotting floorboards. He'd need a way to heal his wounds.

"_Vulnera_," he muttered to himself. "Wounds. _Sanere._ To heal. _Ut Vulnera Sanari..._may the wounds be healed..." Not good enough. The words didn't have the right rhythm. "_Vulnera...Sanari. Vulnera... Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur."_

He traced the wound with the tip of his wand, muttering the spell under his breath. Nothing.

Just like with Sectumsempra, he needed more than the words. He needed to feel them.

He closed his eyes and thought of Lily, thought of the blood pouring out of her wounds, and without knowing why he heard snatches of a melody.

_Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur_

He would protect her.

He traced the wound with his wand again, chanting the words, singing them.

_Vulnera Sanentur_

The blood began to ease

_Vulnera Sanentur_

The wound began to knit.

_Vulnera Sanentur_

The wound was healed.

The night he got back to Hogwarts he beckoned Mulciber and Avery over to the sofa by the fire in the common room. "Watch," he said. He summoned a teacup from somewhere and with a flick of the wand he turned it into a rat. "_Sectumsempra!"_ Blood poured out of a surface wound in its back.

"Brilliant," Mulciber breathed.

Avery clapped him on the back. "You're a genius mate."

Snape's chest filled with their praise and he sat back and watched with some satisfaction as the rat bled. But as soon as they'd left he raised his wand and tapped it to the rat's back again.

"_Vulnera Sanentur._"

Snape glared at Potter when he smirked at him in the corridors the next day, picturing the slashes across his arrogant face. He walked a little taller, as though the power of his spell was inside him, around him.

The Dark Lord had been impressed. One night, the first winter after he'd joined up, he was told to prepare for a raid. He thought it might be a chance to show it off.

His Death Eater robes were magnificent. It was as though they were imbued with some sort of magic that rendered the skinny arms and legs underneath completely irrelevant. People would flee in terror at the sight of him.

They were in a village somewhere in the West Country, looking for a pub. He scanned the street ahead through the slits in his mask and thought he saw it up ahead. His breath came faster as someone blasted a door with a Reductor curse and he stormed the place with the rest of them.

It was just before Christmas, and the place was packed with Muggles. He could hear bits of of some vacuous song playing over the screaming and shouting, some nonsense about a boy child. A middle-aged man with dark hair was running clumsily from the bar, already drunk, he supposed. He looked just like his father. Snape raised his wand.

_"Crucio!"_

He watched as the man jerked and twitched on the floor, feeling a twinge of unease as he screamed. He thought he saw someone looking him out of the corner of his eye and looked to the side, where a young man was cowering in a corner. He was about the same age as him or maybe a little older. For some reason he had fixed his eyes on him. They were terrified and pleading.

He'd started to like the sight of their terrified faces; it was a reminder of the absolute power he had over them, nothing less than the power of life and death. He looked back at him, his heart pounding. He could do anything he wanted to him, hit him with any curse, make him forget his own name. He raised his wand again, taking a moment to steady his hand, which was shaking. Seconds passed. He could feel the eyes of one of his comrades watching him, waiting to see what he would do.

He was an enemy. It was a war. The man would've done the same to him, that's what the others always said.

He couldn't hold his wand steady. Someone snorted from beside him. "He can't do it."

He heard the Dark Lord's voice in his head. _Prove yourself. _

He half-closed his eyes.

"_Sectumsempra!"_

Blood shot out of a gash on the man's face and he began to scream.

The pub must've been filled with shouting and screaming but the man's screams were so loud in Snape's ears he couldn't hear anything else. He clutched his wand in a death grip and watched as the colour drained out of the man's face and his body went limp, listened as his screams became weaker. Snape knew he had minutes, if that. He glanced around at his comrades, who were shooting curses and shouting and dragging people off. He could grab the man under the arms, drag him off somewhere to do the counter-curse, and they'd never even notice.

Snape couldn't stand it any longer. He moved towards the man and and just as he knelt down to lift him up a jet of green light grazed his shoulder. His eyes became lifeless and blank as the blood continued to pour out of him, the pleading look still on his face.

* * *

Graihagh was sitting on her bed, watching the specks of dust floating in beam of light cast by the gas lamps along the wall, listening to the seconds tick past on her clock. At quarter to the hour she reached into the pocket of her robes for the vial of Felix.

Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't hold it steady and the glass hit her teeth. She lowered it and brought it to her lips again, slowly, until the thick sweet potion slid across her tongue. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow.

Her mind opened as though the barriers around it had fallen away, until she saw things as they really were, perceived things that had been hidden from her. But there was something wrong. There were too many directions to go in, too many decisions to make. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to clear her head.

She knew the other girls wouldn't be coming to bed for awhile, at least. She stood up and stuffed her pillow under her duvet, puffing it up so it looked like she was curled up underneath it. This wouldn't fool anybody for long, but as soon they were finished what they needed to do they'd be deep under London and none of this would matter anyway.

_But did she want to be?_

She brushed the question aside. She thought the Felix would make her head clearer than this.

She drew her wand from the pocket of her robes and tapped it to her head. She'd never managed to make herself fade even slightly, but there was no question of not knowing how to do it now.

"_Occultus._"

She looked down at her arms and her hands, no more than shimmery outlines. She slipped out of the dormitory as quietly as she could, not stopping until she'd reached the common room entrance.

Thorfinn had Disillusioned himself and snuck out of his dormitories at the same time she had, and she could just see his outline against the stone wall outside the common room. Graihagh handed a him a vial, and he tipped the Felix his into his throat and took a deep swig.

"Right," he said, voice animated, purposeful. "I've got a plan." He looked at Milo, who was staring down at his vial of Felix with a strange expression on his face. "You going to drink that, mate?"

Milo grimaced, disgust and revulsion written in the lines on his forehead. "Yeah," he said. He tipped his head back and took a swig. His eyes changed, became wider, more alert, but his forehead was creased and he didn't look as sure of himself as Thorfinn.

"Here," he said, handing Graihagh a strand of his own hair. Their plan was so complex, so full of pitfalls, Graihagh hadn't seen how they'd ever pull it off. Their alibis would buy them a few hours at most; by morning everyone would know they were missing. But she was confident, now, that they could make it to London.

_But did she want to?_

That stupid voice again. Graihagh ignored it.

Thorfinn turned to Milo. "He's on the fifth floor. Music room. Let's go."

Milo Disillusioned himself and they swept away down the corridor, Milo following behind Thorfinn.

Graihagh pulled out the vial of Polyjuice, hands so stiff it was hard to get a grip on Milo's hair. She wondered if the potion was wearing off already. When she finally managed to drop the hair into the vial it turned a rich shade of blue, the colour of the sea where it started to get deep.

She raised the vial to her mouth, but when her lips touched glass she stopped. A voice was coming to her, Snape's voice, from a long time ago. She tried to brush it off. Then she heard it again, and she had no idea why.

_"Healey's Law of Holes. When in one, stop digging."_

She was in so deep, she didn't see how. She screwed her eyes shut and tipped the vial towards her.

_"But how will I know I'm in one?"_

_"I think you already know that, or you wouldn't be asking me."_

The potion touched her lips, but she kept them closed.

_"You can still change course."_

But she was too far in already. She opened her mouth.

Now it was Cate's voice she heard.

_"I don't think that's really who you are."_

_"I don't know who I am."_

Cate had looked her straight in the eye.

"_I know who you are._"

Graihagh snatched the vial away from her mouth.

What the fuck was she doing?

She spat out every last bit of the potion, spat until her mouth was dry, then stood against the wall, eyes closed, her steps made clearer by the Felix. There was a hidden staircase up to the fifth-floor corridor, near the music room. She could go there.

She took the corridors at a run, wondering if the potion was starting to wearing off already; the bottom of her throat hurt and her mouth was dry and there was a cramp in her side. Once she started going the wrong way and had to turn back.

The staircase was dim and she made their way up as quietly as she could, stopping at a tapestry hung over the opening at the bottom of the staircase. It looked weird from the back, the coloured thread a jumbled mess.

She could just see the outline of two figures standing beside it. The smaller of the two was crouched low, a wand in his left hand, the dagger in his right. Milo.

She'd known all along what they meant to do.

_Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given_

"Milo" she whispered, throat so tight she could barely get the words out. Milo turned to her. She heard him swallow hard, so the dagger shaking in his hands, because he was trembling. She understood why he wasn't acting, even with the Felix. He didn't know which direction he wanted to go in.

"Milo," she said again. "Please. You don't have to do this. This isn't who you are." He didn't say anything, just looked at her. She couldn't see his eyes but she knew they were wide and fearful.

Thorfinn grabbed her from behind. "Don't listen to her," he hissed. "This is your chance to prove yourself."

Graihagh struggled to wrench her arms out of his grip. "Get off me-"

Thorfinn clapped his hand over her mouth as Graihagh fought against him.

"He's coming. Do it."

Graihagh screamed into his hand.

"Now!"

The dagger slipped downwards as Milo's grip slackened. Graihagh screamed again, the sound vibrating against Thorfinn's palm.

There was a dull clank of metal on stone as the dagger fell from Milo's hand. Thorfinn wrenched himself away from Graihagh and bent over to pick it up. Graihagh couldn't see his face, but she knew he was glaring at them.

"What the fuck Milo? Be a fucking man."

Milo said nothing, just slumped down against the wall, breathing hard, a high-pitched sound escaping his throat.

Graihagh knew what Thorfinn was going to do before he did it. She had to stop him. There was someone on the other side of that tapestry, someone she loved, and they were going to die if she didn't.

He was taller than her, stronger, and she knew there was no way she could overpower him. She had only one choice.

She threw herself in front of him.

She thought it would hurt, but she didn't feel anything. Maybe he'd missed.

She was lying on the ground and something wet was spreading over the front of her robes like water. She realized she could see herself again, and stared down at her arm, where something red was running down her arms like tiny rivers. Only very slowly did she realize it was her own blood. There was so much of it. She thought if just she pressed her hands to her sides it would stop but it wasn't stopping, why wasn't it stopping, she had to make it stop.

Rough hands dragged her behind the tapestry and she heard something underneath her screaming, a soft sibilant sound, like a snake hissing, only it couldn't be a snake, she didn't see where it would've come from. Her mouth was open, her throat raw, but nothing was coming out. She strained her throat until it hurt, but nothing came out, why couldn't she make a sound?

There was a flash of light and someone gasped. "Graihagh!"

Cate.

She had to get out of there. Graihagh had to stop her. But she couldn't get up. No sound would come out.

Cate lunged for Thorfinn, but she didn't see what happened next. Maybe he'd got her.

_Oh God please not her. _

There was so much blood and it smelled weird, like damp metal. She didn't know blood had a smell. Something beside her was making a strange sound, like a hurt animal, and she thought she heard voices but she didn't know where they came from.

_The ground. The ground is crying out with their blood._

Something soft touched her face. "Graihagh! Stay with me. You have to stay with me."

She thought it was Cate, but she seemed so far away.

"I'm going for help, okay? I'll be right back, I promise."

Graihagh didn't want her to go. She tried to open her mouth but she couldn't.

_And then her granny was there and Graihagh was sitting in her lap._

_"Sing me Ushag Veg Ruy again," she said. Her granny smiled and opened her mouth._

_And then her granny was the black-haired man and the black-haired man was singing to her. Snape was singing her a beautiful song._

His song was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: **Content Warning: Severe anxiety (this will be in the second part of the chapter)

* * *

Snape couldn't concentrate on a bloody thing. He'd try to make a potion and forget what he was doing. He'd pick up a book and lose his place right away. He was pacing the floor of his office when a red-faced panic-stricken girl burst into the room, and without thinking he reached into his robes for his wand, as though he'd been expecting her.

"There's-" the girl gasped for air-"someone's...been attacked. Fifth-floor corridor. She's covered in blood."

"Lead the way," said Snape. Holding his wand in front of him, he swept out of the room after her, taking the corridors at a run, skipping steps, overtaking her. He pelted down the fifth-floor corridors until he saw a stream of blood flowing across the stones.

"She's behind the tapestry," said the girl.

Snape yanked back the tapestry to find a deathy pale girl slumped on the ground beside the staircase.

Something was obviously, terribly wrong. She'd gone so limp she was hardly moving and her face was chalk white. He grabbed her wrist and checked for a pulse, but he could barely feel it. He needed to get her to the hospital wing, to Apparate, but he didn't see how, and he fought to think clearly through the fear that was overtaking him. She was not innocent in this, he knew, but he did not want to see her die. He was so fucking tired of watching people die.

"Pitts," he muttered. There was a crack and the elf appeared, wide-eyed and bewildered. "Pitts," he said, more forcefully. "Go to the hospital wing and get Madam Pomfrey to get you a Blood-Replenishing Potion. Quickly!" The elf nodded and with another crack he was gone.

He placed the tip of his wand at the top of the long wound that ran down the right side of her body, so deep in places he could see the bone, and summoned the words, the music, the will to protect her.

"_Vulnera Sanentur." _ The magic-wrought music flowed from his tongue and hung in the air as the blood stopped flowing.

"_Vulnera Sanentur."_ The blood began to clear away.

"_Vulnera Sanentur." _The torn flesh began to heal.

The elf returned with the potion and Snape conjured a dropper, struggling to keep his grip on the handle. He put some potion into it and lowered it into her throat, taking care to make sure it went down, and waited.

She gasped and her eyes opened, wide and terrified.

"You're going to be alright," he murmured. "We need to get you to the hospital wing." With a series of movements he conjured a stretcher and lifted her onto it, and he'd just conjured a blanket to put over her when he heard shuffling footsteps on the stone floor and looked up to see Filch, his lantern in front of his face. He looked shaken and Snape was struck with the realization that, much as he might loathe the students, he didn't want to see any of them killed.

"A student has been attacked," said Snape. "Search the corridors. Start with the staircase behind the tapestry."

Filch nodded and hurried away.

Snape turned to the Bellamy girl. "Did you see anyone?"

"There were two people there, I think," she said, and Snape could tell she was struggling to keep her voice steady. "But I couldn't see them. They must've been under a Disillusionment Charm or something. One of them was holding a dagger and the other one was-he seemed really upset-"

Rowle and Selwyn, he would've bet his life on it. "Did you see where they went?"

The girl let out a shaky breath. "One of them got away. I don't know about the other one."

As if in answer to Snape's question Filch yanked open the tapestry, holding a faintly visible figure by the collar of his robes. "I found someone, Professor."

The boy was writhing and wailing and scratching at his face, so wracked with horror Snape wondered if he'd been the one who'd done it, but he didn't think so, somehow. He glanced at the girl, shaking on the stretcher. She'd be left with permanent scars if she didn't take dittany soon, but the boy needed the hospital wing as much as she did. He conjured a stretcher and lifted him up, struggling to get hold of him.

"Accompany Miss Bellamy back to her common room," he told Filch. "Then alert the Headmaster and the other Heads of House."

Filch nodded and shuffled away, the Bellamy girl beside him.

With his wand he raised the stretchers until they were a few feet above the ground, making his way through corridors and down staircases as carefully as he could, the boy and the girl shaking on the stretchers in front of him.

Madam Pomfrey took one look at the girl and swept away for a bottle of dittany as Snape lifted her onto one of the beds. She pulled back the girl's torn robes and poured it over her right side, along the thick red scar, and with a puff of smoke it faded until nothing remained but a pale jagged line, silvery-white where the light caught it.

"It's going to be alright," she said, placing a hand to the girl's forehead and smoothing her hair back. Snape was glad she was there to speak words of comfort, because that was not something he did.

Beside them the boy let out a strange keening noise and sat up.

"He needs a calming draught," said Snape. Madam Pomfrey reached into the pocket of her robes for a vial of blue potion. She tipped it into the boy's throat and his tense, shaking limbs went slack as his eyes closed and his breathing slowed.

Snape turned to the girl. "Can you tell me what happened?"

The girl opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Fucking hell. A Silencing Charm. Whoever did it meant her to die alone in that stairwell.

"_Finite_," he muttered. "What happened, Miss Corlett?"

The girl's eyes were wide and staring. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

Still in shock, he supposed. Snape turned to the boy. "What happened, Mr. Selwyn?"

The boy's expression was calmer, but his eyes were as blank as the girl's. "Nothing."

Snape let out a frustrated noise and Madam Pomfrey put a hand to his arm. "Let them rest," she said. "They've had a terrible shock. You can question them in the morning."

Snape opened his mouth to protest but closed it again. He didn't need to question them, really. He knew exactly who'd done it. He just needed to prove it without giving himself away, but how he was to do that, he had no idea.

"I'm certain it was Rowle, Headmaster."

Snape was standing Dumbledore and Minerva in the corridor, straring down at the blood-stained stones. Dumbledore stood with his hands behind his back, the lines on his face like fissures in dry clay, looking as sombre as he had during the war.

"But do we have sufficient evidence?" said Dumbledore, gazing at the tapestry, thinking.

"No," admitted Snape. "Miss Bellamy said whoever was with them was Disillusioned and couldn't see him. She said he had a dagger..."

And then the realization struck him, crashed over him in waves. _Bellatrix's dagger._ The one he'd seen in Borgin and Burke's years ago, and didn't buy.

"What is it, Severus?" said Dumbledore.

"Nothing," murmured Snape, with a glance at Minerva. He couldn't bring himself to say anything in front of her, not when she trusted him so completely. Dumbledore gave him a sharp look, but didn't press him.

"You mean she was attacked directly?" said Minerva, voice crackling with shock and disdain.

"It's possible," said Snape, though he knew better. "But the dagger might have been enchanted to cut through objects magically."

Minerva sucked in her breath. "But how on earth could someone have gotten hold of such a dangerous object?"

"I don't know," said Snape, with the smallest glance at Dumbledore.

"What is clear," said the Headmaster, "is that we are dealing with someone extremely dangerous. Minerva, I would like you to alert the rest of the staff. And I think it would be best if there were extra patrols in the corridors tonight." Minerva gave him a stiff nod and swept down the corridor.

Dumbledore watched her go, then turned to Snape. "Have you seen this dagger before?"

"It belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange," he said, trying not to remember when he'd seen her use it. "I saw it a few years ago at Borkin and Burkes. Borgin said it was nearly impossible to trace, since it eliminates the need for a wand. I believe there may also be some sort of fingerprint repelling charm on it."

"Indeed," murmured Dumbledore, more to himself it seemed. He stared at the tapestry. "Do you suppose he intended all along to attack Miss Corlett?"

"No," said Snape, remembering the images he'd seen when he'd looked into her mind, her cagey behaviour over the summer. "I think it more likely she was an accomplice to whatever it was they had planned."

Dumbledore was quiet again. "Well," he said. "I cannot emphasize enough how essential it is that you investigate as thoroughly as you can. You can start by questioning Mr. Rowle. Use any means necessary, though we must bear in mind that Legilimency will count for little if we must give testimony to the Ministry or the school governors. You must also take care not to come down too hard on him until we have definite proof, or your old comrades may get the impression that your loyalties have changed."

A bit risky, not simply apprehending the boy. Clearly the old man was playing the long game. He would've made a good Slytherin.

"I understand, Headmaster," said Snape. He swept away down the corridor.

He stopped just outside the common room, hesitating, resting a hand on the stone wall.

"_Excalibur,_" he said, remembering the password the portrait of Salazar Slytherin had given him the week before.

The noise hit his ears as soon as he walked in; the atmosphere was light, almost boisterous. He doubted anyone knew of the attack. A few students had glanced towards the entrance to see who had come in and within moments the room became silent.

"I am looking for Mr. Rowle," he said. Over by the fire a few students exchanged glances.

"He went to bed sir," said one of the sixth-years. "Said he wasn't feeling well."

He must've told everyone he was going to bed and snuck out under a Disillusionment Charm. The level of forethought was unnerving. "Then go and wake him. Tell him I wish to speak with him."

In fits and starts low conversation broke out again, punctuated with silent glances towards Snape. Rowle walked out of the dormitory entrance with a completely unconvincing look of puzzlement on his face, but Snape couldn't see any sign of blood on his robes.

"Come with me," he said. Without a word the boy followed him into his office, where he gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and they both sat down. Snape paused a moment, leaning back in his chair, running a finger along the edge of his mouth. The boy was drumming his fingers on the sides of his chair and it looked to Snape as though he was straining to keep his gaze steady, to keep from shifting in his seat, no sign of his usual cocksure swagger.

"I was wondering if you could tell me what you were doing this evening?" he said, watching him closely for any signs of confusion. If he didn't know anything of the attack, it would surely seem strange to be asked such a question.

"I went to bed early," he said. His voice was inflected to suggest a question rather than a defense, but it was strained and tight.

"Really?" said Snape. "And yet you're still in your robes."

Rowle's eyes flickered down to his robes and Snape knew he'd caught him lying. "I fell asleep in them, sir."

Snape said nothing to this, just stared him down. Rowle glanced away.

"Did something happen sir?"

The sheer nerve of the boy. As if he didn't know. "A student was attacked," said Snape, watching him closely for a reaction.

"That's-was it bad, sir?"

Snape took a deep breath to keep from slapping his hands on his desk. "It was nearly fatal," he said, looking straight into his eyes.

There was a crease between his brows and he was looking back at him. Snape met his gaze. _Legilimens._

The flashes were rapid and difficult to sift through. Snape saw a fireplace, flashes of silver, a small, shimmery figure crouched behind a tapestry with a dagger in hand. When he left his mind and saw only his eyes again he sat there a moment, staring, his breath coming faster. It couldn't have been Selwyn, he didn't see how.

Snape kept his expression blank, calm. "Your wand, Mr. Rowle. May I see it?"

The boy reached into his pocket for his wand, nonplussed.

"_Priori Incantato,_" murmured Snape. A smoky image appeared; it was a lamp being extinguished.

"Very well," he said, handing the boy back his wand. "I am sorry to have bothered you, but the Headmaster wishes me to investigate." He gave the boy a commiserating look, as though to say how foolish he found the whole thing, and the boy gave half-smile that was more like a nervous twitch of the mouth. His eyes darted towards the door.

Snape stood up. "I will accompany you back to the common room."

They said nothing as they walked back to the entrance, and as soon as he was inside Snape began his patrol of the dungeon corridors, almost welcoming the chance to keep moving, as though the forward motion could clear his thoughts and relieve some of the agitation that had built up inside of him.

The corridors remained silent and still, no sound apart from the occasional whisper of a portrait or the hissing of the torches along the walls. He supposed a few hours must have passed when he met the Bloody Baron passing the other way. The Baron was staring straight ahead of him, not seeming to see anything, the bloodstains on his robes gleaming silver when the flickering light hit them.

"I have a request to make of you," said Snape. The Baron paused and gave him such a startled look it was as though Snape were the ghost, but then his face drooped back into its usual sullenness as he waited for Snape to speak.

"I would like you to keep watch over the corridors tonight. Alert me immediately if you see anyone."

The Baron gave him a grave nod and drifted down the corridor.

He realized then just how heavy his limbs and eyes felt and went straight to his room, pulling off his boots and lying down on the bed. He'd only rested his eyes for a moment when he shot back upright again, resting his hands against his eyes, but he couldn't get the sight of Miss Corlett's blood out of them, and he knew he'd see the man's face in his dreams.

* * *

"Miss Corlett?"

"What? What?" Graihagh looked up and she thought she saw Madam Pomfrey, but it couldn't be, what was she doing in the hospital wing?

"I was just asking if you were alright?"

That seemed like a weird question. "Yeah. I'm fine." She closed her eyes and hoped she would go away now, that they would all go away.

"Here," said Madam Pomfrey, handing her what felt like a dressing gown. It looked comfortable.

"Put this on." Madam Pomfrey closed some screens around her and Graihagh pulled off her robes, breathing in that horrible smell, that damp metal smell. She didn't know why but it made her shake and her eyes were stinging and she didn't know why but she had to get away. She jerked the nightdress over her head and jumped out of the bed, but firm hands pressed her back down. Cold metal pressed her lips and something bitter went into her mouth and before she knew what was happening she became so tired she sank back down in the bed and fell asleep.

* * *

Graihagh tried to get back to sleep, tried to feel nothing but the softness of the sheets beneath her, but there was too much light in the room to keep her eyes closed. She wrapped the pillow halfway around her head, telling herself that she'd just woken up in the bedroom at her granny's house and her granny was poaching kippers for breakfast. She used to start breakfast late and let Graihagh have a lie-in. She was never in a hurry. "Traa dy liooar," she'd say.

She thought about the wood paneling on the walls and how she would wake up and stare at them and see monsters and strange eyes in the knots and whorls. She felt a hand on her arm and when she opened her eyes she expected to see it and for a second she didn't know where she was.

"Your breakfast, Miss Corlett." Madam Pomfrey set down a tray heaped with sausages and scrambled eggs and toast. "Eat this and then Professor Snape would like to speak to you."

Graihagh's heart pounded so hard she was dizzy. Snape. She'd seen him the night before, he'd sung her a song, carried her up to the hospital wing, but why?

Graihagh wasn't really hungry but she speared a sausage and took a small bite. She heard Madam Pomfrey's voice from somewhere across the room. "How are you, Mr. Selwyn?"

Something crashed over her and she shoved the tray away from her and yanked the nightdress over her head. A set of clean robes had been set on the nightstand and she put them on and hurried out of the room, not thinking, not listening to Madam Pomfrey's shouts, just getting the hell out of there. Breathing hard, she took the corridors almost at a run, as though she could run away from everything that had happened. She was making her way down the marble staircase when she heard a voice.

"What are you doing outside the hospital wing, Miss Corlett?" Snape sounded angry but also afraid, and she didn't understand why.

The words rushed out of her mouth before she knew she was saying them. "What do you want from me?"

Snape got very quiet the way he always did when he was about to say something nasty. "There's no need to take that tone with me, Miss Corlett. Come."

Her arms and legs were shaking as she followed him to his office. She slumped into the chair across from his desk, rubbing her face with one hand. He sat down in the seat across from her.

"I need you to tell me what happened."

Graihagh just stared down at his hands and didn't say anything. His nails were jagged and long and she had the sudden image of him sitting at his desk, carefully filing them, and she almost laughed.

"Miss Corlett." Graihagh's head jerked upwards. He had the strangest expression on his face, was it pity? Maybe he could help her.

She glanced down at his desk again and that's when she saw the book.

_Maledictum: A Discourse on Dark Magick. _

She glanced down at the name.

_Norfolk_

Oh God. He was still a Death Eater. _He was in on it._

Graihagh's muscles seized up and a there was a sharp pain in the bottom of her neck. She glanced back at the office door and saw it was closed. She shot out of her chair and ran for it. Snape stood up and blocked her.

"You aren't going anywhere, Miss Corlett," he said softly. Almost on instinct she reached into her pocket for her wand.

"What do you think you're doing?" He'd actually raised his voice now, and was reaching into his own robes.

He was in on it too, and she'd cocked it up for him, and now he had her trapped.

"Just leave me alone! Please" She loosened the grip on her wand; she was afraid it was going to snap in half. She pulled it out of her pocket, staring straight ahead of her but not really seeing anything.

She thought he said something, but she was still looking at his hand, which he had taken out of his robes. They were resting at his sides. His nails were yellow.

"Did you hear me Miss Corlett?" She looked up.

"Get back to your seat," said Snape.

She shielded her face with her hands as though she could somehow stop him. "Don't kill me!"

"What did you say?" His voice was very soft.

Graihagh's voice didn't sound like her own, it was so high-pitched. "I know what you are. You're a Death Eater, I heard you crying your eyes out when the Dark Lord died. And-that book-you have his book-"

Snape's eyes, always narrowed, always looking everyone with disdain, widened in surprise. He probably never thought she'd figure it out.

Graihagh wrenched the office door open.

"Miss Corlett!"

Snape overtook her and blocked her path. "Miss Corlett, please. I need to know what happened, you can trust me-"

"Stay away from me!"

Graihagh broke away from him and took the corridors at a run, not stopping until she'd reached the common room entrance.

Thorfinn jerked her by the arm and she cried out as he pulled her into an empty corridor.

"What the fuck do you think you were doing last night?" His voice was a spitting, rough-edged sound she'd never heard before, and it didn't make sense. She screwed up her eyes and tried to get him into focus; maybe it wasn't him.

"What?"

"You backed out on us." His face was close to hers now; it was his face. "I knew it was stupid to trust you. I was going to put you under the Imperius Curse and make you do it, but I let Milo talk me out of it."

Her brain was so flooded with fear she couldn't speak.

"You're not going to tell anyone are you?" he said, as he grabbed her other arm. The wall was hard and cold against her back.

"No-no I won't, I swear. Please." He'd pressed himself right up against her and his hot breath blew across her face.

"You'd better not," he whispered. "Or I just might do it."

Graihagh stared back at the Puddlemere United badge pinned to his robes. They'd gone to a match over the summer and she'd sat there next to him in the stands like he was an ordinary person, just a regular sixteen-year-old, what had happened?

When Thorfinn let her go she slumped down against the wall with her hands over her eyes, trying to listen for the swish of robes and the thud of footsteps over the sound of her own breathing.

Warmth spread through her body like she'd slipped into a hot bath and her mind was at peace. She felt so good, she never wanted it to end.

_"Go to the common room."_

_She wanted so badly just to sink into the sofa in the common room with a cold drink and sit and watch the lake through the high windows along the wall. She walked into the entrance and sank down on a sofa near the fireplace. After awhile Thorfinn handed her a bottle, almost as though he'd read her thoughts. _

"_Give it to Milo." _

_She didn't want to, it looked so good, she could see the beads of condensation trickling down the sides. But then, he probably needed it more than she did. He'd been under a lot of strain lately. She walked up to the hospital wing, watching the way the light from the torches flickered across the marble staircase. She couldn't remember why he was there, but she knew he'd be okay, he'd come out eventually. _

_Milo brightened a little when she handed him the bottle. So she'd done the right thing. _

_Graihagh sat down beside him and watched as he tipped his head back and swallowed the cold drink. He drank a long time, he must've been thirsty. _

Milo fell over his tray, gasping for air, eyes wide and horrified.

Graihagh stood up. "Milo-"

"_Sit back down. Nothing's wrong."_

_Graihagh sank back down in her chair and watched him. __She didn't want there to be anything wrong._But there was.

"_Sit down.__"_

"No."

_"Everything's fine."_

Graihagh closed her eyes and fought against the voice with everything she had. "No." She tore away from the voice, from her own fear, and pelted towards Madam Pomfrey's office.

Madam Pomfrey stood up the moment she came in, as though she'd been expecting her.

"What's happened?"

"It's Milo-it's-he can't breathe-"

Madam Pomfrey ran to Milo's bed and put her hands to his face.

"I think he's been poisoned," she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shrivelled stone. Graihagh couldn't watch. She stared out the window and waited for the sound of his breathing, but it never came.

Madam Pomfrey's let in a sharp breath. "It's not working."


	39. Chapter 39

Snape was searching the corridors for the Corlett girl when a silver sparrow landed in front of him and opened its mouth to speak. "_A student has been poisoned. Bezoar not working. Come to the hospital wing immediately."_

Snape tore down the corridor as fast as he could go, reaching into this pockets for the vial. knowing he had minutes, if that.

The limp figure of Selwyn was slumped over his breakfast tray, pale, shaking, almost blue. Snape twisted the cap off the antidote, something he'd been working on for months, and cradling the boy's head in one hand he tipped the potion down his throat.

Selwyn gave a sharp gasp and went limp, but his breathing was steady and slow.

Madam Pomfrey sank into a chair with her hand to her forehead. Snape allowed her a few moments to recover herself before speaking.

"He'll need to take Essence of Rue, and likely some calming draughts as well."

Madam Pomfrey pulled her hand away from her face and stood up. "Right," she said absently, before picking up a bottle of pumpkin fizz from Selwyn's bedside table and drawing herself up to her full height, rounding on the Corlett girl.

"Did you give him this?"

The Corlett girl's eyes were wide with horror.

"I don't-I don't remember-I don't know how it happened."

Snape's mind worked furiously, taking in her shock, her confusion, the fact that she'd just been outside the hospital wing. There were only two explanations; either the girl was hiding something, and her attempt on the boy's life was deliberate, or Rowle had just used an Unforgiveable Curse.

The girl slumped to the floor, face in her hands. She might've been acting, it might have all been put on, but he didn't think so.

Snape knelt down and put a hand to her shoulder. "As it so happens, Miss Corlett, I believe you," he said. "But I need you to tell me what happened. It's only a matter of time before someone is attacked again."

The girl just shook her head. "Nothing happened," she said, voice strained and tight. "Nothing happened."

Snape bit his lip to keep his frustration in and glanced at Madam Pomfrey.

"Keep the ward locked at all times," he said. "Admit no one until the culprit is caught."

"Yes, Professor," she said, and Snape knew she understood how serious the situation was.

* * *

Snape strode through the Entrance Hall and up the stairs, not stopping until he'd reached the staff room. Minerva was sitting and talking with Sprout and Flitwick, the three of them more serious than he'd seen them in years. There must have been something in his expression that alarmed them; they stopped talking the moment they walked in, and Minerva half-rose from her chair.

"What is it Severus? Another attack?"

"One of my students was poisoned. I think we ought to search the corridors, in case the culprit is at large."

The three of them stood up, wands drawn, and together they made their way into the corridor.

"He may be hiding behind another tapestry or concealed doorway," he said, and he knew they understood his meaning. "And someone should inform the Headmaster."

Minerva raised her wand and a silver cat leapt down the corridor and up the stairs.

He cast a Supersensory Charm on himself, checking behind every tapesty and every doorway he passed, but he saw nothing.

Sprout, Flitwick and Minerva met him in the Entrance Hall. "Any sign of him?" said Snape.

"Nothing," said Minerva.

Snape expected as much. He doubted the boy would be so foolish as to make another attempt so soon, and anyway it was Sunday and most of the students were keeping to their common rooms as they'd been told. "Keep watch over the corridors," he said, locking eyes with Minerva. She gave him a stiff nod.

Snape paced the floor of his office, weighing his options. He could bide his time, wait him out, see if he made another attack. But that seemed entirely too risky, and anyway, Selwyn and Miss Corlett would be stuck in the hospital wing until then. There was really only one option. The girl would have to give evidence against him.

Snape rapped the door to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey opened it a crack.

"Wait," said Snape. "You ought to ask me a question, to ensure I'm not an imposter."

Madam Pomfrey looked flustered. "Right, of course. Let's see...what did you demand when you were in here with the flu last winter?"

Snape glanced at the boy and the girl and at Professor Kettleburn, who was sharing the ward with them in the special bed that had been set aside from him. He was covered head-to-toe in bandages but Snape suspected he was listening to their every word.

"Could we ask a different question?" he murmured.

"If you really are Professor Snape you should be able to answer it," said Madam Pomfrey rather sharply.

"Chocolate hobnobs," muttered Snape.

"And?"

"And a heating pad. And flannel pyjamas."

Madam Pomfrey opened the door and stood back to let him pass.

The Corlett was lying in bed with her eyes closed, but he could tell by the strained look on her face that she wasn't really asleep. He sat down beside her.

"Miss Corlett."

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

"Miss Corlett!"

She couldn't really pretend not to have heard him. She opened her eyes.

"Listen to me," he said. "I need to know what happened. If the culprit isn't caught, someone could be killed, do you understand?"

The girl glanced back at him, then stared at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He sat back in his chair and waited, but still she said nothing, and then the realization struck him. If he was to have any hope of getting something out of her, he was going to have to pretend to care about her feelings. Bloody hell. They didn't pay him enough for this.

He bent his head towards one shoulder and then the other to loosen his tense muscles and stared down at her as he figured out what to say.

"Everything will be alright," he said. "I will see to it that you don't come to any harm." As far as he was able, anyway.

The girl glanced at him, eyes wide and anxious. Snape remembered the way she'd looked in that corridor, deathly still, and when he put his hand to her shoulder he wasn't acting.

Whether it was because this had calmed her he didn't know, but the girl drew in a deep breath.

"It was Thorfinn," she said. "Rowle I mean-it was him who attacked...and I think he gave me the bottle..."

The girl clapped her hands towards her mouth, her screams oddly muffled and distorted.

"Miss Corlett-"

Her eyes were wide and she shot out of bed, pacing back and forth and clutching at her face, both hands on either side of her jaw, as though trying to prise it open.

A memory was loosened from somewhere in the back of Snape's mind, something the Dark Lord had told him once, years ago. Something about a mouth-binding curse. The one put on anyone who took the blood oath and betrayed a comrade, a curse invented by the Dark Lord himself, perhaps when he'd been a student, a curse he knew because he was one of the few he'd taught.

He couldn't concentrate with the girl's muffled wailing in his ears. He left the hospital wing and paced the corridors, wracking his brains for the counter-curse.

Loosen..._solvunt_..._solvunt_ something..._Solvunt quod..._loosen what was...how did it go? Shut? Bound?

"_Solvunt quod tenetur_," muttered Snape. That had to be it. If it wasn't, the girl was in serious trouble. And yet, horrified as he was by the amount of suffering that could be unleashed by such a simple curse, some small part of it intrigued him.

Snape went back into the hospital wing and pointed his wand to the girl's mouth, whispering the incantation. The girl gave a gasp as her mouth was wrenched open and sank to the floor, shaking. Snape slipped his arms under hers and half-carried her to a bed.

"Another calming draught, I think," he said to Madam Pomfrey, and she tipped the blue potion into the girl's throat. Her face slackened and she sank back into bed. He gave her a few minutes to recover before speaking

"I am going to have to ask you to come with me. We need to see the Headmaster."

The girl glanced at him, then stared at the ceiling. Snape was just about to say something when she pushed herself off the bed and stood up.

They made their way to the Dumbledore's office in silence

"Drumstick Squashies," said Snape to the stone gargoyle. The door opened and they made their way upstairs.

Dumbledore was standing in front of Fawkes, stroking his head with a long thin finger.

"Miss Corlett has something she wishes to tell you, Headmaster," said Snape.

"Does she?" said Dumbledore. He turned to face her.

The girl's posture was natural, easy, relaxed from the effects of the potion, but she twisted her hands together as she spoke and her eyes were sharp, alert.

"I know who was behind the attacks," she said. "It was Thorfinn Rowle."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

The girl drew in a sharp breath and glanced at Snape. "He had this dagger. And...he was going to attack someone..."

"And attacked you?"

"I...got in front of him..."

Snape locked eyes with Dumbledore. She knew. She'd known all along he had the weapon, and she'd said nothing. But they'd deal with her later.

"What about Mr. Selwyn? Was he involved?"

"No."

"Please tell me the truth, Miss Corlett. He was found at the scene, and I need to know how he came to be there."

The girl glanced at Snape as though hoping he'd let him off. "Thorfinn was going to force him to do it but he changed his mind, he dropped the dagger, he didn't do anything."

"Do you remember who gave you the bottle?"

"I think it was Thorfinn. I don't really remember."

The girl's voice was breaking and even under the influence of the potion she was shaking.

"Thank you, Miss Corlett. Professor Snape, if you'd return her to the hospital wing. Then I would like you to search Mr. Rowle's possessions and bring him here."

"Won't he know it was me who turned him in?" said the girl.

Snape locked eyes with Dumbledore again. The same thought had occured to him too, but there was really nothing to be done about it.

"I can assure you Mr. Rowle will be expelled, and likey subject to further displiplinary action by the Ministry," said Dumbledore. "He will no longer be a threat to you, or to anyone else."

The girl gave him the smallest nod, and followed Snape back to the hospital wing.

Snape walked down to the dungeons without really seeing anything, mind working furiously. The boy couldn't think he was loyal to Dumbledore. That much was essential.

Everyone turned to look at Snape as he walked into the common room. The atmosphere was more subdued than it had been the day before; clearly everyone knew what had happened.

"As I suspect you are all aware by now, two of our house were attacked," said Snape in his most authoritative voice, looking round at them all. "The Headmaster wishes me to do a search of the dormitories."

Indignant muttering spread over the room like ripples of water in a pond, and he knew exactly what they were thinking. _Slytherins never attack their own_.

And usually, they were right. There was a heaviness in Snape as he made his way to the sixth-year boys' dormitory.

He searched a few other trunks first, or made it look like he had, at least, just for the sake of appearances.

The dagger was at the very bottom of Rowle's trunk, wrapped in brown paper. Snape studied the silver blade, the wooden hilt. A bollock dagger, likely hundreds of years old. The same one he'd seen in Borgin and Burkes, the same one he'd seen Bellatrix use. He rummaged some more until he found a rolled-up nightshirt with something hard inside, and when Snape pulled it out he found a vial of colourless liquid.

He'd known what it was, known since Madam Pomfrey told him the bezoar wasn't working, but his stomach dropped at the sight of it. Had Lucius actually given him this? He didn't see how, or why.

Snape wrapped up the dagger and the vial and went back to the common room. Rowle was standing by the fireplace, rubbing the back of his head.

"Mr. Rowle."

Rowle started at the sound of his name. His startled expression smoothed and he put his hands at his sides, glancing at his friends with the smallest shrug, but he seemed to know he'd given himself away. He looked in Snape's direction but didn't meet his eyes.

"Come with me."

The two of them walked together in silence, the boy behind him. Snape walked with his usual brisk strides, but he was weighed down, heavy. He'd never liked the boy much, but just the same, he hadn't wanted it to come to this.

Snape murmured the password and Rowle made a disgusted noise.

"Daft nutter," he said.

"Quite," said Snape. And he meant it, but not in the disparaging way Rowle did.

Dumbledore was waiting for them.

Snape kept his voice cool, distant, reluctant. "Headmaster, I found these among Mr. Rowle's possessions." He handed Dumbledore the dagger and the vial.

Rowle stood and watched him, every muscle tense, like a loaded spring.

"Why did you do this?" Dumbledore's voice was soft, almost shocked.

Thorfinn stared at the opposite wall. "I didn't do anything-"

"We have eyewitnesses" said Dumbledore, with the smallest glance at Snape. He would have loved nothing more than to be the one grilling the boy, but it was simply too risky.

"Milo Selwyn and Graihagh Corlett were behind most of it-"

"And yet you attempted to kill both of them?"

Dumbledore had drawn himself up to his full height. His voice betrayed no hint of anger, and yet the power radiating from him was so palpable Snape could feel it, and the smallest thrill went through him.

The boy seemed to shrink slightly. "I had to do something," he said, in a strained voice. "To stop them-Muggles and Mudbloods-"

Snape opened his mouth to snap at him, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"I would ask you not to use that term, Mr. Rowle."

Snape shot Dumbledore a furtive look; he'd just kept him from breaking cover.

Dumbedore didn't glare at the boy, didn't even raise his voice, but atmospheric change as noticeable as though all light and warmth going from the room.

"But why Miss Corlett and Mr. Selwyn? They were your friends, were they not?"

Rowle set his jaw and stared at the opposite wall, hands twitching at his sides.

"If I were to guess," said Dumbledore, "I would say that perhaps not all went to plan. And rather than admit your mistake and turn yourself in, you turned on your accomplices instead."

Rowle leaned forward in his seat. "I didn't try to kill Graihagh, she jumped in front of me-"

"But you were trying to attack someone else?"

The boy closed his mouth and glared down at the floor, face flushed, and Snape had to make an effort to hide the amusement curling his lips.

Dumbledore's face was grave. "Given the severity of what you have done, I'm afraid I have no choice but to expel you. I must also inform the Ministry of what has happened."

Rowle looked straight ahead and swallowed hard.

Snape put on an indignant face and stepped towards Dumbledore. "I think that's rather harsh, Headmaster. Surely a suspension would be more appropriate?"

Dumbledore caught on in a flash. "I hardly think suspension an appropriate punishment for attempted murder, Severus."

"But do we know he intended to kill someone? Perhaps he didn't know what the dagger does."

Rowle looked from one to the other with a look of feigned innocence that didn't fool Snape for a second.

"I have made my views on this clear, Severus," said Dumbledore, a note of warning in his voice.

Snape twisted his face into a scowl. "Headmaster, I must insist-"

"Enough."

Snape went quiet, and Dumbledore gave him the smallest nod before turning to Rowle.

"You still have a choice, Mr. Rowle. In spite of what you have done, it is not too late for you. What has happened here has clearly shaken you. This is not the person you intended to become, and it is not the person you have to be."

Oh for fuck's sake, he was doing his wise old man bit. Trite, meaningless sentiments, all of them. They hadn't stopped the boy before, he didn't see any reason why they'd stop him now. Snape had been spouting the same nonsense to the Corlett girl for years, and she'd still come within a hair's breadth of becoming an accessory to murder.

And it wasn't as though anyone had ever said anything like that to him.

Rowle said nothing to any of this. He shifted in his seat and squeezed his hands on the side of his chair.

"Professor Snape will accompany you back to your common room. I will notify your parents of the situation and arrange a Portkey for you. I am sorry to have to do this, Mr. Rowle."

The boy rose from his seat and Snape walked behind him, wand raised.

"_Obliviate,_" whispered Snape, staring at the back of his head in concentration. The poison he'd used on Selwyn was not supposed to have an antidote. Better to have him think it had been a different one. He wished he could as easily erase his memories of Miss Corlett's betrayal. Snape doubted he would ever forgive her.

They walked in silence until they reached the entrance to the common room. Snape turned to Rowle, trying his best to ignore the fact that the boy was a good six inches taller than he was.

"I'm terribly sorry about all this," he said. "I had no idea he would go so far as to expel you. I wish I could've done more, but the old fool's protection is the only thing keeping me out of Azkaban." He looked the boy straight in the eye, willing him to understand, though he doubted he would. "And speaking of Azkaban, you don't want to end up there, do you understand?"

The boy stared back at him, and behind the forced swagger there was a flicker of genuine fear. Or maybe he just wanted there to be.

"Things will be more difficult for you now, certainly, but there is no reason an intellignent young man like yourself cannot get on with his life. Do not do anything more you will regret."

Rowle looked away from him, and left through the common room entrance without saying anything more. All Snape could do was hope that when the Dark Lord rose again and he must return to the Death Eaters, the boy wasn't one of them.

He walked back to his office and slumped into a chair exhausted, staring into the fire. When he finally sat up again his eyes flickered towards the book on his desk.

The Corlett girl had been terrified when she'd seen it, and he couldn't understand why, couldn't understand how she'd known about it.

He picked it up on a whim and began to flip through it. He liked to read through it slowly, studying it, memorizing it, and there were a few pages he hadn't read. He wet a finger and flicked to the pages at the back, and his heart pounded.

_Horcruxes_

He scanned the definition and stared down at it in shock. This was too twisted even for him.

And then a memory came loose from somewhere in the back of his mind.

_The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does._

Fucking hell. The fucker was almost immortal.

He threw the book into the fire. It didn't burn, naturally. He summoned it out of the fireplace and threw it at the wall.

His frustration spent, he sank down to the floor with his head in his hands.

* * *

Graihagh couldn't look at Milo. She couldn't look at anything. She sank back into her bed with her pillow over her face.

She knew by the brisk staccato footsteps that Snape had entered the hospital ward before he even opened his mouth. "Miss Corlett."

"What?" she said into her pillow.

"Come with me."

This was it. She was in huge fucking trouble and she deserved every bit of it.

She pulled the pillow away from her face and followed Snape up to Dumbledore's office, alert for any sound, any movement.

"Mr. Rowle has been expelled," said Snape, as though he knew she was watching for him. "He left by Portkey an hour or so ago."

Some of the tension left her but she was still cautious, as though he might be lingering in a corridor somewhere. She wouldn't be surprised if he was. She wished she were brave enough to knock him down and rip his face off, force feed him poison until he choked.

Dumbledore was waiting for them in his office. She was some disgusting thing under his feet and couldn't look at him.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Miss Corlett?" Dumbledore sounded more disappointed than angry, and all she wanted to do was turn right around and get out of there without saying anything, but she knew she couldn't.

"I helped him. I helped Thorfinn. I knew he had the dagger.."

"And you didn't tell anyone?" Dumbledore's voice was sharp, piercing.

Graihagh shook her head. "No."

"How did you help him?"

"I made Polyjuice Potion so I could disguise myself as..." She paused, taking care to avoid Milo's name. "So one of us would have a solid alibi. I also made Felix Felicis. So we wouldn't get caught."

Snape let in a sharp breath and stepped toward her. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make Felix Felicis? Few fully-qualified wizards would attempt it." His voice was soft, quiet, and for a second she had a wild, fleeting thought that he was impressed with her. But his next words were slow and fierce.

"And this is how you've chosen to use your talent?"

The silence was loud. Graihagh just stared at the floor, face hot, head thrumming, too many thoughts to name.

"Tell me why you did this," said Dumbledore. His voice was cool rather than angry, but this made it worse, somehow. Graihagh had no idea how to explain any of it.

"I...I don't know...I thought...I wanted to help them," she said, her voice breaking, cringing at how pathetic and unconvincing it all sounded.

Dumbledore said nothing to this, and Graihagh couldn't stand it any longer.

"What about you?" she said, looking straight at Snape. "You were one of them, weren't you? You were one of his followers."

Dumbledore put up a hand. "I must ask you not to speak to my staff that way, Miss Corlett."

Graihagh's face burned. "Someone told me my mother was one of them..."

Dumbledore glanced at Snape. "Sit down," he said, not harshly. She sat down in the chair opposite his desk.

"As it so happens, she was."

Graihagh looked up at his beard because she couldn't look at his face, willing him to tell her it was all a joke, all some twisted joke.

"I knew her from the time she was a student here."

Graihagh twitched and started in her chair, but Dumbledore didn't seem to have noticed.

"She was a diligent student, and a rather talented one. As the years passed she befriended a young woman named Bellatrix Black, and the two were responsible for a number of troubling incidents. This is where I should have done more to intervene. But I hoped perhaps she would grow out of it, as many do."

Dumbledore was quiet a moment, as though thinking. "Some years later, I attended her trial."

Graihagh must've heard that wrong. "What?"

"Her trial," he repeated slowly, as though he knew what she'd been thinking. "An Auror was found murdered, the victim of some unknown curse..." He adjusted his spectacles and paused as though trying to decide what to say. "The affects of which bore a strong resemblance to the affects of the dagger Mr. Rowle had in his possession. Your mother and Bellatrix were seen with him moments before he disappeared."

"But-she couldn't have-how did she..."

"She was acquitted."

"So she didn't do it then?"

"As to that, I cannot say."

Graihagh wracked her brains for some kind of an explanation, something that would absolve her. "But...my dad said she never used magic. And she was an addict. In the Muggle world."

Dumbledore pressed his fingers together and gazed at a silver instrument that was huffing and whirring on a wooden table. "The act of taking someone's life is imbued with its own magic," he said after awhile. "So powerful it rips the soul apart. There is only one thing that can mend it. You must feel remorse for what you've done. It is an extraordinary painful process."

What the fuck was he saying? That her mother was so overcome with remorse she couldn't live with herself and that's why she ended up the way she did?

And the attack. They'd used the same weapon. Graihagh had nearly done the same thing she had. The truth smashed into her like a broken sea wall and her throat was tight and almost choked the words as they came out.

"I've failed her then."

Everything went quiet, the only sound a gentle whirring from somewhere. Then Dumbledore spoke.

"You have not failed her. It has not escaped my attention that you stopped him, and nearly died doing it."

This meant nothing to her. Everything went quiet again.

"You do, however, bear some responsibility for what happened," said Dumbledore after a long silence. "And therefore I will leave it to your Head of House to decide an appropriate punishment."

There was another long pause, another agonizing pause, why were they so quiet?

"I think, at the very least, a one-month suspension, while I decide whether or not to have you expelled," said Snape. "And of course I will be writing to your father."

A whole month with her father's cold disappointment. Breaking off contact with him for so long was bad enough, but she didn't see how he'd ever get over this.

"Miss Corlett? Did you hear me?"

"What? What is it?"

"You are to return to your dormitory," said Snape. "A Portkey will be arranged for you tomorrow morning."

Graihagh followed him back to the common room, barely aware of what she was doing, or where she was.

Only once they'd reached the entrance did she think of Milo.

"Is Milo going to be suspended too?"

Snape's expression was hard to read. "Since he knew of the attack, I don't think I have a choice but to suspend him."

His disapproval was like a cold draught, but she had to say something. "Professor, please don't make him go home. He isn't safe there. His father was using some sort of potion and he lost control of his magic and he was destroying everything."

Snape looked back at her and she could've sworn she saw something in his eyes, something like concern. "I will consider what you have said."

She knew it was useless to press it further. "Thank you sir."

There was another long silence, as though Snape wanted to say more, and Graihagh waited, watching him. Then he shifted on his feet, and Graihgah recognized the dismissal.


	40. Chapter 40

The summer after Snape left Hogwarts the sun beat down on Spinner's End without mercy. His bedroom was so hot he could hardly breathe and the sweat ran down his back in rivers and made his t-shirt stick to his skin. His parents had a fan propped up on the kitchen counter and they'd spend their days sitting in front of it and blowing the air towards themselves with paper fans but Snape only left his room to go to the privy. He never said a word to them.

The shit smell of the river was a small price to pay for the cool night air that blew across his skin and Snape kept his windows open while he slept. One night he woke up to find Mulciber's owl tapping at his face. Snape snatched the letter from his beak and sat up. The Dark Lord had heard of his talents, and wished to meet him.

Snape set down the letter and paced the floor of his room, amped-up from excitement and nerves. It wasn't easy to get into his inner circle, where he hoped to end up. He'd need to make a good impression.

The next morning he left Spinner's End and Apparated to the house of the Lestranges, where the Dark Lord was. A beautiful woman named Bellatrix appeared at the door and Snape knew right away she was not someone to trifle with; she gave him a sharp look and was not smiling at him as she led him into the house to a darkened room where the Dark Lord sat in a high-backed chair.

"Severus Snape, my Lord," she said.

"Come forward."

Snape walked forwards and knelt to kiss the hem of his robes, as he'd been instructed.

"Lucius tells me you have a talent for inventing spells and brewing potions," said the Dark Lord. "We need minds like yours, Severus. You will be a great asset to us."

"Thank you, my Lord. I wish to place myself at your service." Snape spoke softly, still looking at the floor.

"Look at me."

He knew what was coming and met the Dark Lord's gaze. He had nothing to hide.

The corners of the Dark Lord's mouth lifted and he raised a thin white hand. "Welcome, Severus."

Being such a young recruit he'd been placed under the orders of more senior Death Eaters like Lucius, who took him under his wing. He'd sometimes had to torture supporters and members of the Order, and he'd use the opportunity to show the others the spells he had invented. They were especially impressed with Sectumsempra. It wasn't long before the Dark Lord himself was asking his advice and he was given the freedom to experiment with his spells and potions. He'd become known for his intelligence, his skill at Legilimency, his ability to keep his emotions in check. None of them knew who he really was, and he didn't really care. They saw the man he thought he should be and that was enough for him.

He envisioned himself becoming one of the Dark Lord's most trusted advisors. He couldn't win Quidditch cups, or strut down the corridors with his legion of admirers, but he could take his place among the most powerful people in the wizarding world. It would be Potter and Black hoisted up by their ankles, humiliated.

He'd felt their momentum building as they increased in strength, and as he rose through the ranks and became closer to the Dark Lord he felt himself cresting towards some great height from which he could crush his enemies and become someone Lily would be proud to have.

He paced the floor of his room at the Hog's Head before his interview with Dumbledore. The Dark Lord had shown confidence in him, giving him this order, and his reward would be even greater status and power. But Dumbledore was no fool, and he doubted he could do it.

The old wizard knocked on someone's door. Another interview, perhaps. Snape made his way over as quietly as he could. There wasn't much to see at first. Some dotty-looking woman who claimed to be a Seer.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,_

_Born to parent's who have thriced defied him, born as the seventh month dies-"_

A rough hand yanked him up and pushed the door open, and after he'd yelled at him in front of Dumbledore he dragged him downstairs and threw him out of the pub. The moment he was outside he'd Apparated to the Dark Lord's side, knowing that what he'd heard would mean the end of the Dark Lord, and thinking how much it would please his master that he'd stopped it happening.

One night, a little over two years after he'd joined up, the Dark Lord called a meeting. The trees were nearly bare and a cold wind had blown up, and Snape didn't want to go.

"I believe I know the boy to whom the prophecy refers," said the Dark Lord.

Snape hid his hands under the table so no one would see his white knuckles, his clenched fists. He forgot to breathe.

"Harry Potter."

His shoulders twitched as he shrugged off the boy's name, tried not to care.

"He must be dealt with, of course. And his mother and father."

Snape couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. The ground underneath him fell away.

He didn't know how he found the strength to keep his expression blank. He went back to Spinner's End and paced his room for hours trying to work out how to save her.

He went to him the next day.

"My Lord, I have a request." He knelt on the floor, careful to keep his voice calm, even, reverent.

"What is it, Severus?"

"My Lord, it concerns the Potter boy's mother. Lily Evans. I beg you to spare her."

The silence was tense, like something waiting to strike.

"What is this, Severus?" The air itself seemed to hiss. "You can't possibly have feelings for her?"

"No, my Lord, never. I merely desire her."

He knew what was coming, and it took everything he had to shut down his feelings, to close his mind, as those merciless eyes bored into his. There was a long pause.

"Very well. If she does not get in the way, I shall spare her."

But he knew Lily Evans would never stand aside to let her son be killed. And she had not.

He saw her now. Screaming besides the cot, only her screams were all the people he'd tortured. He saw her falling to the floor, holding her throat and retching. Lying there with all the light gone out of her eyes, her face slashed and bleeding. Snape didn't know how long he'd been seeing it all when he woke up shaking.

He pulled the covers off himself, paying no attention to the cold dungeon air, and walked over to his bookshelf and started skimming the titles for anything that could distract him. He found a book he'd been meaning to read, but stopped with his hand resting on it. He closed his eyes.

He allowed the images and sounds to come over him, one after another, flashes of people screaming, writhing on the floor, choking and retching, bleeding. He sank to the floor with the weight of it, head against the cold stone, hands shaking. He'd never killed anyone, not directly. But it had been his own poisons, his own spells, his own information, his own indifference, that had caused all that suffering and death, and he knew it.

Every muscle was tight and painful and siezed at his hair, the pain in his body so bad he didn't feel anything in his head. A force was collapsing his insides; his chest was as tight as though it were being crushed. He clenched his teeth and cried out. The images were still flashing through his mind, as clearly as though he had just seen them, but he didn't try to stop them, or think of something else. He saw a flash of Lily screaming in front of a cot, of her lying on the floor, eyes lifeless, and it was a pain like he had never felt; his bones were being crushed.

Just when he thought he couldn't take any more, and that he would collapse and pass out, he heard her voice in his head.

"_Severus."_

"Lily?"

_"It's all right now, Sev."_

He saw her eyes. She was with him. Slowly, like an ebbing tide, the pressure began to ease, and his muscles slackened. His breathing slowed.

He didn't know long he had been there. Deflated and wrung out, drenched in sweat, he sank into bed and fell back asleep.

* * *

The leaves on the trees in the Forbidden Forest were flaming red and gold, and as Snape made his way to breakfast Hallowe'en morning Hagrid was bringing one of his enormous Pumpkins into the Great Hall. He stayed busy that day, attempting to drill some small measure of knowledge into his students' thick heads and mostly failing, if the sorry-looking concoctions that simmered feebly in their cauldrons were any indication.

He walked into the Great Hall for the feast without really seeing it, or hearing the hundreds of voices echoing off the stone floors. His mind was somewhere else, someplace hundreds of miles away, and as soon as pudding was served, he slipped out of the Great Hall and pulled his travelling cloak out of his robes, draping it over his shoulders as he made his way out of the front doors. He spun into the air just beyond the gates, thinking only of Godric's Hollow.

When he stopped spinning he was in a small village with cottages on either side of the road, orange-white in the light of the streetlamps. The branches of the trees were mostly bare now, and the night air smelled cold. He could sense the coming winter in it. There were a few children in costumes about, and some of them turned to stare at him as he passed, perhaps under the impression that he'd worn some sort of costume himself, but he didn't pay any attention to them.

He walked until he reached what looked like the village square, where he could see the small stone church. He started to walk towards it when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turned his head he saw that the memorial in the centre of the square had transformed. He knew who it was the moment he saw that beautiful woman with the long hair. A man with glasses was sitting beside her with his arm around her, and together they were looking down at the baby boy in Lily's arms. He couldn't look at Lily without seeing the boy and the man. He turned away.

He walked on until he came to the gate at the entrance of the churchyard. He pushed it open and made his way slowly through the rows of tombstones, looking over each name, not sure what hers would look like. He passed by one stone that was chipped and crumbling. The writing was faded. He bent to get a closer look. Cadmus Peverell. Something about it intrigued him, though he didn't know the name. He looked at it a moment, then kept walking, until he thought he saw the name Dumbledore. He walked closer to it, looking at the names and the dates. His mother and sister.

There was an inscription underneath. _Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also._ A bit abstruse, he thought, which could only mean that it had been chosen by Albus.

He walked until he saw the brilliant white marble, strangely bright in the dark churchyard. He knelt in front of it and traced her name with his finger.

Lily Potter.

There was another inscription under this one.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._ He didn't know what it meant.

He rested his head against the stone, his hand over her name. Her body was lifeless and cold under that hard ground, all because of him, and there he was, heart still beating, still alive.

"I'm sorry."

He couldn't stop what was coming, and didn't try.

"I'll look after him," he said against the stone. "I promise you."

He stayed there a long time, head bent against the stone. He never wanted to leave. He thought of coming back here with a sleeping draught and sleeping beside her forever.

But he had a job to do, and he wouldn't abandon it now.

* * *

Graihagh stood in front of Dumbledore's desk, holding tightly to her trunk with one hand and Scooter's cage with the other. With the very tips of her fingers she reached for glowing blue biscuit tin and didn't look back as the force of the portkey pulled her away.

Seconds later she was standing in a sloping field filled with colours, gold and red and tawny brown, and she breathed in the sea air carried by the wind that whipped her face. She could see it off in the distance, bright blue, and she looked at it a long time.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and when she turned to look there was a woman in long blue robes a short distance away nodding to her. Graihagh glanced down and saw she was still wearing her school robes. The woman must've recognized them. She nodded back to her, watching as she turned and walked away. She'd never really thought about whether there were other witches and wizards in Mann, but of course there must be, she'd been stupid not to realize it.

She glanced around the field, but didn't see her dad anywhere, and wasn't sure if she was supposed to meet him there. She walked with the sea at her back, dragging her trunk behind her, knowing she'd find a road eventually.

She hadn't been walking long when she saw someone walking towards her and stopped. She would have turned around and started running, but there wasn't anywhere to go. She felt her dad watching her as he stood in front of her, but he didn't say anything, and she couldn't look at his face, could only stare down at his scuffed work boots. She'd failed him, just like she'd failed her mother, just like she'd failed Milo, just like she'd failed Cate.

"I can take that for you," he said, grabbing hold of her trunk. She clutched the cat carrier and followed him to the side of the road where his car was parked. His shock, his disappointment, were so strong she could feel them radiating in waves and she turned and stared out the window until they got back to Douglas, then went right to her room so he wouldn't see her.

She lay on her bed until it was dark outside and she would've gone to sleep but she was light-headed from not having eaten anything. She slipped out of her room and went down to the kitchen. Her dad was sitting on a chair in the lounge, but it was quiet. The television was on but the volume was down, and he wasn't even watching it, just staring into the space looking lost.

She looked away so he wouldn't see her staring, but she was too late.

"I want to talk to you Graihagh," he said. He turned the television off and walked over to her. For a moment he just stood there, as if he didn't know what to say, but Graihagh knew what was coming. She felt his eyes going through her.

"How could you have done something like this?"

He sounded more shocked than angry, and Graihagh was blindsided by the surge of emotions, too strong to name. She paced the floor, wringing her hands.

"I don't-I don't know-"

"I didn't raise you to do things like this!" His voice had risen now, like he was desperate to convince himself that what he'd said was true. Graihagh knew what his look meant. _This must be your mother coming out in you. _And in a way he was right, more right than he knew.

"I'm sorry alright? I'm so sorry."

Her dad sat down in a chair with his face in his hands. "I know, I know, and I know you were almost...I just don't know what to think...it's like I don't know you."

His voice was rising, breaking, cutting across her like nails, and she couldn't hold back what was inside of her. She picked up a glass from the table and smashed it against the wall.

"I said I was sorry!"

"Graihagh!"

He dad stood up but she pushed past him and grabbed her coat out of the hall closet, hurrying outside before she'd even zipped it up.

The streets were dark and quiet, the only sounds the whirring of a car from somewhere and the sea off in the distance, but her dad's voice was loud in her head.

_It's like I don't know you._

And how could she blame him, really? She hadn't seen him in nearly two years, hadn't written. No one knew her.

Somewhere out of the corner of her eye a dark figure moved and she froze, heart pounding. She knew she had to move but she couldn't. The shuffling footsteps came closer. She forced herself to run, as fast and as hard as she could, knowing only that she had to get away.

"Sorry love, didn't mean to startle you," said a voice somewhere behind her, but she barely heard it. She ran until she hand was on the front door, yanking it open and locking it behind her. When she'd checked the lock a few times she slumped down on the floor.

Her father's shadow passed over her. "Graihagh? What's wrong?"

Graihagh couldn't answer.

A pair of strong hands lifted her up. "Go to bed. You've had a long day."

Graihagh was too drained to protest. She went upstairs and changed into her pyjamas and crawled under the covers. She kept her lamp on but it was a long time before she stopped shaking.

When she woke up the house was quiet and she supposed her dad must've gone to work. She stayed in bed all day, even after he came home and made dinner. She heard the sound of his footsteps, the taps runnning, the clink of dishes, but she didn't go downstairs until after he'd gone to bed. She kept to her herself those first few days, eating her meals when he'd gone to work and going upstairs as soon as he got home. He'd knock on her door every night and tell her goodnight, but he didn't say anything to her beyond that.

By the fourth night she couldn't stay away from him any longer. She paced the room awhile, until she heard the television going in the lounge. She changed into her too-small jeans and a jumper and the necklace with the sailor's knot pendant he'd given her and went downstairs.

Her dad was sitting in an armchair in the corner. She sat on the far end of the settee. They didn't say anything for awhile, just watched the progamme. Even in Graihagh's state, she could tell it was funny.

"What are you watching?"

"The Return of Blackadder," said her dad. He glanced at her. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah. It's good."

They watched until the ten o'clock news came on, and her dad shut the television off and stood up.

"I think I'll turn in then. 'Night Graihagh."

"Night Dad."

When she woke up the next morning the overcast sky had a bright late-morning look. She gazed out the window at the sea and thought about how vast it was, how she could swim away to the edge of the world and let it swallow her until she was erased.

The sea didn't know her.

She sat back down on her bed and stayed there a long time, until she heard the front door open. Her dad came upstairs and knocked on her door. "I picked up some cheese, chips and gravy for dinner," he said.

Part of her didn't want to go down, didn't think she deserved it. But she knew why he'd done it, knew it was his way of saying things were alright.

Her dad looked her over as she sat down. "We need to get you some new clothes," he said.

"Yeah."

When Graihagh was done eating she stayed in her chair, picking at her nails.

"Dad."

"Hm?" Her dad looked up over his food.

"I'm sorry. About everything."

Her dad didn't say anything to this, but he reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

He went back to his food, and Graihagh was quiet awhile, thinking of the question she was afraid to ask.

"How's granny?"

Her dad paused with his fork halfway across his food and set it down, and Graihagh had a bad feeling about whatever it was he was about to say.

"Well, she had a bad fall over the summer. She fractured her hip."

Graihagh sat up straighter. "What? How is she now?"

"Well, she's made good progress, but she's had to go to a nursing home."

"She must've hated that."

"She did." He finished his food and wiped his face with a napkin, not looking at her. "She's not really been herself."

Of course she hadn't, she must've hated being shut away, taken away from her house and her garden. And Graihagh hadn't been there, hadn't even written. She was so overcome she stood up and paced the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest. "Is she angry with me?"

"Not angry, exactly. Well, maybe a bit," he added when Graihagh raised her eyebrows. "Mostly she missed you."

"Can I go see her?"

"Of course. Any time." He set his empty dish aside and rested his arms on the table. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he said. "I knew something was wrong when you stopped writing to me. And then I got a letter from the Headmaster, saying your marks were dropping...I was starting to think you weren't going to come back."

Graihagh stopped pacing and glanced down at the tile floor. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Do you think there's time to see her now?"

"I think so. I'm sure she's still awake." His expression turned serious. "She might not, you know. Be the way you remembered her. Might be a bit shirty, like."

Graihagh didn't like the sound of this, but she nodded. "I know."

They put on their coats and got into the car, the cold night air drawing her out of her torpor.

The aide who led them to her granny's room was a woman Graihagh knew, and she was friendly enough, but the nursing home was cold and sterile and strange-smelling and she couldn't stand the thought of her just sitting there day after day. She looked at the handwritten card on the door with her grandmother's name on it, Breeshey Corlett. It had an ominous sort of permanence to it.

Her dad rapped on the door but no one answered. He tried again. Nothing. He pushed the door open a crack.

Her granny was sitting in a chair, staring out the window. Graihagh saw a cane propped up against the chair but it wasn't right, she was too young for that, her hair wasn't even all white yet. The room was empty of all her things, her puzzles and her jars of preserves and all the weird things she picked up at antique fairs, like the old dentist's chair she put it in her back garden. Graihagh would prop her soft toys on it and pretend to give them root canals.

Her dad bent down and kissed her cheek. "Someone's here to see you, mum."

Graihagh was hoping her face would break into a smile, that she'd wrap her in a hug the way she used to, usher her to a chair and ask her to tell her everything. Instead her eyes widened and Graihagh could see the hurt in them, the disappointment.

"Two years. Two years and you never came to see us. Didn't so much as write."

Graihagh was tense all over. "I'm so sorry."

"Why are you home now? They throw you out of that school?"

Graihagh glanced at her dad. She'd hit way too close to the truth.

"Graihagh had a stressful first month of term," said her dad. "She needed a bit of time off."

Graihagh thought her granny might make a sharp remark at this, but she didn't. She just looked at her a moment and went back to staring out the window.

Graihagh glanced at her dad, who gave her the smallest shake of the head, just as lost as she was.

Her dad sat down next to her and started asking her how she was and filling her in on all the skeet. Graihagh sat down on across from them, but she couldn't focus on a thing they were saying. All she knew was that she'd never seen her grandmother look so listless.

After awhile her granny yawned and her dad stood up. "I suppose we'd better get going, but we'll come back soon, alright?" He kissed the top of her head.

"It was good seeing you," said Graihagh. She started to bend down to kiss her, but changed her mind and stood back up. Her granny spared her a glance before staring out the window again, even though it was dark and there was nothing to see.

When they got home they sat and watched the television awhile, but neither of them paid much attention to it. Graihagh asked the question before she'd even really thought of it.

"Did mum tell you why she was leaving?"

Her dad turned his head to look at her, startled. For awhile he didn't say anything, and she wasn't sure he was going to answer. He shifted in his seat.

"No," he said, and she could hear the bitterness in his voice after all that time.

Graihagh waited for him to say more, but he just rubbed the back of his neck and stood up. "I think I'll turn in," he said. "'Night Graihagh."

"'Night Dad."

She followed him upstairs and changed into her pyjamas but she didn't go to sleep, just sat against her headboard with her knees propped up against her chest.

Her dad knocked on the door and she opened it for him.

"Can I sit down?" he said. Graihagh nodded.

"Listen. I'm sorry I never told you about her.

"That's alright."

"It's not." He rubbed the back of his neck again and let out a long sigh. "It's-it wasn't anything to do with you. She sure seemed to love you. She wasn't, you know. Out of it all the time or anything like that. She took good care of you. But I knew something was wrong. She'd wake up screaming...one night I walk into the bedroom and she's there on the floor, wailing like she was dying. Scared the shit out of me, that did. I never did find out what was wrong."

Graihagh thought she understood what had happened. But she didn't see how she could ever tell him.

"Do you want to see a photograph?"

Graihagh thought she was ready now."Yeah," she said. Her dad went to his room, and when he came back down he put it in her hand.

Her one-year-old self was standing in the grass, wearing a dress and bonnet. Her mother was behind her, holding on to each of her hands with her own. Her dark hair fell across her face. She was young and looked so much like her that Graihagh might have been looking at herself.

"Can I keep this?" she whispered. He nodded and she sat and looked at it a long time.

"Does it bother you? That I look like her?"

Her dad looked back at her, eyes wide and earnest. "Of course not, Graihagh. Don't ever think that."

She knew deep down this was a lie, but she also knew how much he wanted her to believe it. She leaned in to hug him, and they held on to each other a long time. And that's when she decided she wasn't going back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Graihagh spent as much time with her dad as she could. He took some time off work, and a lot of days she'd curl up on the settee and he would sit beside her. One day she and her dad put on their coats and walked along the beach, gazing out at the Tower of Refuge.

Sometimes, when she was lying awake at night, she would be back in the corridor, smelling her own blood and trying desperately to scream, to make a sound. When it was over she would find herself in the bathroom, shaking and sweating, not knowing how she got there. Her dad would sit with her until it passed and take her back to her room. Sometimes she'd stay up all night and sleep until her dad got home from work. She didn't like being the only one in the house. She kept the curtains drawn and her wand in her pocket.

She tried her damndest not to think of Thorfinn, but he was always there, in the sudden noises from the street outside, in the flashes of movement out of the corner of her eye. His face was burned into her eyelids. She imagined ripping it off, slashing it, forcing his own poison down his fucking throat. Sometimes she wondered if he'd been expelled for his own safety as much as for hers.

Her granny wasn't herself those first few weeks. Graihagh wracked her brains trying to find the right words, something that would bring her back to herself, but nothing seemed to help.

"It's my fault she's like this," said Graihagh as they drove home one night.

"I wouldn't say that. It's a lot of things. Everything's changed for her."

"She might not have taken it so hard if I'd been there. Or maybe she wouldn't have fallen. I would've been with her if I'd come home last summer."

"Well, don't dwell on it. You're here now."

"Yeah," said Graihagh, but it was only because she'd fucked up. And it wasn't really enough.

* * *

One morning at breakfast she heard a tapping at the window and looked up to see an owl there. She turned back to her toast and told herself it wasn't anything, just an ordinary owl looking for a place to sleep after a night's hunting, but it didn't stop tapping and after awhile her dad got up to open the window. It was a hawk owl, a beautiful bird, and Graihagh couldn't help looking at it even though she didn't want it there.

"Aren't you going to take your letter?" said her dad.

Graihagh just shook her head. She glanced at the name written on it. "It's for you anyway."

Her dad gestured to the owl as if to ask if he could take it, and she nodded.

Graihagh heard the sound of the envelope opening and her stomach clenched. She'd already made up her mind she wasn't going back, she didn't care about that. But an expulsion would disappoint him so much.

"Well?" she asked, trying to sound flippant. "Did they chuck me out?"

"No, sweetheart. You're not expelled. You can go back now. There'll be a portkey for you tomorrow."

"I'm not going back. I'm staying here."

Her dad didn't say anything to this. He set down the parchment, set his porridge bowl aside, and leaned over the table, rubbing his forehead. He sat up and looked at her.

"Well," he said. "Maybe we'll talk about that later."

Neither of them could settle to anything the rest of the day. Graihagh was peeling potatoes for dinner when her dad came into the kitchen. "I think you need to go back."

She looked him straight in the eye. "You don't really want me too, do you?"

"You don't...you have certain skills, Graihagh. I don't think you'll be happy if you don't use them."

"I don't want to use them."

Her dad didn't say anything to this for awhile. "Your Head of House said you're gifted."

Graihagh just stared at him in disbelief. "Can I see that parchment?"

He picked it up off the table and gave it to her, and when she scanned it, there it was, in small cramped writing. Snape had written those words about her.

"I want you to go back, Graihagh."

"No."

Her dad let out a long sigh. "You're going back, do you understand? You're going to catch that portkey tomorrow if I have to drag you there."

His voice was so stern she was startled. He hardly ever talked to her like that. He was going to do it. He was going to make her go back to that school, to her memories, to the friends she'd almost killed. She glared at him.

"I'd like to see you try." She turned and stomped up the stairs to her room before he could say anything.

She expected her dad to be upset with her, to ignore her. She was surprised when he came up to her room and rubbed her back.

"Listen. If you really can't go back, you can stay here. But I think you should try."

Graihagh clutched her pillow and voiced the fear that had been lurking inside her since she came back to Mann. "What if I can't?"

"Are you afraid to go back there?"

"That's part of it, yeah."

Her dad was quiet a moment, thinking. "But maybe that's all the more reason to go."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, in that slow voice he used when telling her something he wasn't sure she wanted to hear, "I think maybe you need a bit of help getting over what happened. And I'm not sure anyone would really understand. Anyone from...this world I mean."

"But then I'd just be leaving you again."

"Well, you don't have to feel bad about leaving me. I'd rather see you go back and do well. And granny'll be alright. Just come back and see her sometimes, yeah?"

"Of course."

Her dad squeezed her shoulder. "Why don't you sleep on it? I'll see you in the morning."

"See you."

Graihagh had a restless sleep. She kept waking up and thinking of her dad, her granny, Thorfinn's face, blood trickling down the stones. Cauldrons full of thick golden potion. She didn't ever want to see a fucking cauldron ever again.

By morning she was no closer to an answer than she was the night before. She put on her coat and walked down to the prom and sat on a bench overlooking the sea. She sat there a long time.

She wanted to fly off to someplace far away where no one knew her. But she'd always remember. She'd always know what she'd done. She'd end up like her mother, running away from herself and getting nowhere.

She walked back to the house and that evening, after she'd eaten dinner and washed up, she put on her new jumper and jeans and the necklace with the sailor's knot pendant and dragged her trunk and Scooter's cage downstairs. When they'd packed them up in the car, they drove to the nursing home.

She didn't want to leave her granny like this, but she had no idea what to say. Then she remembered something Cate said a hundred years ago about music having its own magic.

"I still remember that song you used to sing me," she said. Her granny made a dismissive noise, as though to say she doubted it.

And without really worrying about the fact that she couldn't sing worth shit Graihagh opened her mouth.

_"Ushag veg ruy ny moanee doo, ny moanee do, ny moanee do_

_Ushag veg ruy ny moanee doo, c'raad chaddil oo riyr syn oie?"_

Her granny just looked at her like she'd gone mad, but Graihagh kept on singing.

The corners of her granny's mouth twitched. She mouthed the words. And then she opened her mouth and sang with her, all the way to the end of the song.

Her granny tapped her arm. "I love you to the moon and back Graihagh, but you can't sing," she said.

Graihagh smiled. "Yeah, I know."

"I hope you do it anyway."

"I do. When no one's around."

Her granny let out another little huff of air that was almost a laugh. Graihagh glanced at the woman on the other side of the room. "Can she hear us?

"She took her hearing aid out for the night, can't hear a thing. That's Fenella Quayle, remember her? She worked in that corner shop on Windsor Road."

"Oh yeah, I remember her."

"She caught your dad nicking comic books one day."

Graihagh stared at her dad, mouth open. "You never told me that."

The corner's of her dad's eyes crinkled the way they always did when he was amused. "Had to set a good example, didn't I?"

"That's because I kept you in line," said her granny, giving him a playful swat. "Never stole anything again after I was through with you, did you?"

"I just didn't let myself get caught," said her dad. Graihagh laughed and it was like old times.

Graihagh didn't want that visit to end. She wrapped her arms around her. "I'll be back at Christmas," she said. "And I'll come visit every day."

"Good. Love you, Graih."

"Love you too _mwarree_. See you soon."

Graihagh kissed her cheek and she and her dad left the room.

"Will she have to stay there long-term?" she said as she and her dad got into their car.

"Don't know. If she makes enough progress I was thinking of having her move in with us, what do you think?"

"She'll drive us mad."

"That she will."

Graihagh flashed him a smile. "I think it's a great idea."

Her dad drove her back to the apparition point, the same place she'd arrived. The wind whipped at her face as they walked through the field and she breathed in trees and the grass and the sea. She was going to miss. it. She was going to miss this whole island. _Ellan Vannin veg veen._

They walked in silence until they reached the portkey, an old work boot barely visible in the moonlit grass.

"I don't want to leave you."

"I know. But you'll be home for Christmas won't you?"

"No matter what."

He pulled her into a hug. "You'll go for help, when you need it?"

"Yeah. I will."

"Better grab that, Graih."

Graihagh let go just in time to grab onto the boot.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks so much for reading, and thank you to everyone who has favourited/followed and to PearlM21 for the reviews, I appreciate them so much! Just two more chapters to go :)


	41. Chapter 41

Snape opened the door to the Headmaster's office to find him surrounded by owls and reading a piece of parchment.

"Word of the attacks spread rather quickly, as you can see," said Dumbledore, paying no attention to the barn owl pecking at his arm. "I've heard from quite a few concerned parents. And I can't say I blame them." He tapped the owl with a long finger and took another letter, slitting it open with a long thin finger.

"Well," he said after he'd read it through. "The school governors have called an emergency meeting. It seems some of them are rather upset with me. Especially your friend Lucius."" Dumbledore peered up from the parchment and gave Snape a significant look.

Snape wondered what he was getting at. They would never sack him; it was a lost cause.

"Oh, I don't see them getting rid of me," said Dumbledore. "It's you I'm concerned about. You kept the attack from being successful. You gathered enough evidence to have the Rowle boy expelled. Whether anyone knows the extent of your involvement I cannot say, but I daresay it presents a rather risky situation for you."

Snape hadn't considered this, but he supposed Dumbledore had a point.

"But if you were to go to the Board of Governors, and perhaps vent some of your, shall we say, frustration, and let Lucius see you do it, it would go a long way, I think, towards maintaining his trust."

"So you wish me to go in front of the Board and tell them you're swatting at bludgers with a cracked bat?"

"Indeed. Go on at length about how frightfully eccentric I am."

"I have a feeling they already know that," said Snape, stating the obvious. Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

"You could even throw in a bit about my incompetence," Dumbledore added.

"No one would believe that," said Snape, so firmly that Dumbledore smiled a little.

"I'm rather touched, Severus," he said, making Snape squirm with discomfort. "But I am known to make mistakes from time to time."

The old man kept his confessions up his sleeve, where he kept his intentions, never showing more than he had to. But there was something in the fixed look he gave Snape, the merest trace of an apology, and Snape was surprised to find that some of his resentment had left him. He nodded very slightly.

"You're willing to do this then?"

"I'll do my best," said Snape, and Dumbledore nodded his approval.

Snape paused near the fountain outside the manor, collecting his thoughts, preparing his speech, until he was ready. Lucius met him at the door and led him to the dining room, where the other eleven governors were sitting at the table. They'd been talking amongst themselves in serious voices but quieted when he walked into the room.

"Ladies, gentlemen," said Lucius. "Allow me to introduce Professor Snape of Hogwarts School."

Snape rather liked the sense of importance he felt, in spite of his nerves. He drew himself up to his full height as they stood up to shake his hands and when they'd all sat back down he looked round at them all as they waited for him to speak.

"In light of recent events, I feel it is my responsibility to share my serious concerns about Albus Dumbledore's ability to run the school," said Snape. "His behavior since I have known him has been erratic, to say the least."

"Lost the plot has he?" said woman who he knew to be Miss Travers' mother, in a derisive voice.

"Quite," said Snape. "I can't tell you the number of times I have walked in on him talking to his pet Phoenix, for instance."

This had exactly the effect he thought it would. There was an outbreak of impressed muttering.

"Merlin's beard," one man said. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to tame a phoenix?"

"And how extraordinarily useful they are?" added someone else.

Snape shared an irritated look with Lucius. He was starting to enjoy himself a little.

"Also," he went on, when the muttering had died down, "there's the experiments he does at all hours of the day and night, I'm surprised he hasn't blown up his office-"

"Well, you don't make brilliant discoveries without making a bit of a mess," said a woman rather crisply.

"And," Snape went on, as though he hadn't heard her, "He is often called away from the school, some days he isn't there at all-"

"Naturally, considering that everyone wants his advice. And serving on the Wizengamot is no small task, I might add," said the same woman.

"And the most concerning thing," he told them all, raising his voice a little and doing his best to sound indignant, "An attack like this represents a serious flaw in security. There is every reason to believe it will happen again, and soon. Not to mention the Cursed Vaults-"

"But that's all the more reason to keep him on!" shouted another man, and there were murmurs of agreement and shouts of "hear hear" from most of the others, just as he expected there would be.

"I make a motion that we keep Dumbledore as Headmaster," said yet another man.

"I second," said the woman who had spoken before.

Lucius was fingering the walking stick where he kept his wand, his mouth thin and tight. "All in favour?"

Nine hands shot into the air.

"Motion carried," Lucius said in a strained voice. Snape suppressed a smirk and thought of his students to keep his expression irritated.

Someone made a motion to adjourn, and after half an hour or so of tedious small talk, the other governors took their leave and he was left standing in front of the fireplace with Lucius.

"My apologies, for not being able to do more," he said.

"It's quite alright," said Lucius. He scowled. "They'll need to improve their safety record before my son steps one foot in that school."

He looked angrier than Snape had seen him in a long time, and Snape was struck by the realization that Lucius didn't like to see children attacked any more than anyone else would. Perhaps Draco had changed him.

"Would you care to stay for drinks, Severus?"

"Certainly," said Snape, and he meant it, in spite of his disquiet over the poison.

Lucius snapped his fingers and told the elf to bring them two gin and tonics.

"I owe you an apology," said Lucius as they sat down in his study. "For asking you to interfere at Hogwarts. Lord knows the barmy old bastard runs the place with an iron fist. And his protection has been useful to you. I shouldn't have expected you to jeopordize it."

Snape so taken aback at being spoken to like an equal that it took a few moments for Lucius' words to sink in.

"That's quite alright" he said, wishing he could say what he felt in a way that didn't sound stilted and stiff.

Lucius nodded and took a long drink, and Snape's eyes flickered up to the shelf where the vial of poison had been. There was nothing there but an empty space.

Lucius must've followed his eyes. "You remember that poison? The one without an antidote?"

Snape nodded.

"Well. It went missing a few months ago."

"Really?"

"I thought it must've been the elf, but he doesn't seem to know anything about it."

Snape knew exactly who'd done it, but thought it best if Lucius didn't. "Yaxley, perhaps? He always had a habit of taking things that aren't his."

Lucius smirked. "Sticky-fingered bastard. Remember when I caught him trying to smuggle one of my Ming vases out of the manor?"

Snape caught his eye and smiled back. "And I put him under the Imperius Curse and made him give it back to you and kiss your arse."

Lucius laughed. "That's what I always appreciated about you. A half-blood from a filthy Muggle hole and yet you have more class than the rest of them put together."

Snape had no idea what to say to this. He'd spent most of his life putting as much distance between himself and Spinner's End as he could. And yet Spinner's End was in his bones.

He took a sip of his drink and decided to change the subject. "How is Draco?"

"I swear his magic gets stronger all the time. Just the other day we found him in his room covered in cake. He managed to Summon it all the way from the kitchen. And he's taken to stealing my racing broom out of the shed and flying about on it."

"Is he good?"

"Not bad. His reflexes are quick enough."

As though he knew they were talking about him Draco barrelled into the room and flung himself over his father's lap so that he was looking at Snape upside-down.

"Hello, Professor," he said, and Snape noticed the change from a few years before, when he would barely speak to him.

Snape attempted a small smile but wasn't sure if he was successful or not. "Hello, Draco."

Draco flashed him an upside-down grin before sitting up in his father's lap. "You said you would do shadow puppets with me before bed."

Lucius' eyes flickered toward Snape in the furtive, embarrassed way of someone caught doing something completely ridiculous.

"I suppose so." He stood up and Draco slid off his lap.

"If you'll excuse us," he said. "I've-ah-been acting out the story of Merlin putting the sword in the stone."

Snape was filled with some strange sadness he couldn't explain, but he stifled it as best he could, smirking at Lucius in a _haven't you changed _sort of way, because he knew that's what Lucius expected.

Lucius and Draco went upstairs and Snape had just reached the door when Narcissa came into the front hall. Her hair was down and she was dressed in simple robes of pale blue and there was nothing of her usual reserve. Her eyes were red and rather puffy.

He expected her to ask how the meeting went and prepared to twist his face into a scowl, but instead she said something completely unexpected.

"I'm so glad I caught you before you left. I have something for you." She reached into the pocket of her robes and handed Snape a photograph.

"I went to see Auntie Walburga and Uncle Orion after...Anyway, they let me keep some of Regulus' old things. I haven't been able to look through them until now."

Snape looked down at the photograph and saw his eighteen-year-old self, all sharp angles and stingy hair, standing beside Regulus, his dark hair swept back from his face, nose upturned. His eyes were sneering but the corners of his mouth were turned up in the beginnings of a smile that would break through all the arrogant tension in his face like a sunrise. Snape's breath came faster.

He stared down at it so long he worried he'd given himself away, but perhaps she already knew.

"You can keep that, if you'd like," she said.

Snape tucked the photograph into the pocket of his robes. "Thank you."

"Of course. Goodnight, Severus."

Narcissa's hand closed over his. Snape twitched but he didn't pull his hand back.

"Goodnight, Narcissa."

Narcissa let go and Snape adjusted his travelling cloak and strode to the gates to Disapparate.

* * *

Snape walked into Dumbledore's office to find him leaning back in his chair with a tin of ginger newts on his lap, completely at ease.

"Nine to eleven," said Snape.

"Ah. Even better than I was expecting," said Dumbledore through a mouthful of biscuits. "Well done, Severus."

He brushed his hands together to wipe the crumbs off. "So, have you decided whether or not to allow Miss Corlett to return?"

Snape wasn't sure what made him do it. Mostly, he supposed, because he couldn't stand the loss to Slytherin's reputation; one Slytherin expelled was bad enough. "I suppose so. But you knew perfectly well I was going to, didn't you?"

Dumbledore was smiling slightly. "I guessed it. But my guesses are usually good."

Dumbledore wiped biscuit crumbs off his beard, "Well, that's one situation managed, though not quite the outcome I would have hoped for. You handled all of this well, Severus."

"Thank you, Headmaster." They locked eyes, an understanding that didn't need words.

Dumbledore's face relaxed. "I believe some of the other staff are heading to the Three Broomsticks this evening. Perhaps you'd like to join them?"

"I'd rather not, Headmaster. I've had a long day."

"Understandable. I've had a rather tiring day myself." He put the lid back on the biscuit tin and stood up. "Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Headmaster."

Snape turned and left the room, thinking only of his fireplace and his books, and he didn't see Minerva until she was standing right in front of him.

"Good evening, Severus," she said. "I was just headed to the Three Broomsticks to meet Pomona and Filius, perhaps you'd care to join us?"

Her eyes were warm and Snape blurted out a reply without even thinking about it. "I suppose."

He was cursing himself slightly as they walked to Hogsmeade together.

"Minerva, Severus, good of you to join us," Flitwick said as they sat down. Sprout flashed them both a warm smile.

Madam Rosmerta came by, and after they'd ordered their drinks Minerva turned to him.

"Well, I must say Gryffindor's prospects are rather good this season, wouldn't you, Severus?"

Snape tensed and curled up his fingers under the table. As far as he knew his team hadn't yet found a replacement for Rowle or for Selwyn, who was no longer allowed to play. But when he looked at her there was no mockery, no guile in her eyes, and he relaxed a bit.

"I wouldn't get too confident just yet, Minerva. Your keeper couldn't tell a quaffle from his own arse."

Sprout snorted into her drink and Flitwick coughed and Snape was rewarded with an arched eyebrow from Minerva. Madam Rosmerta came by with his glass of mead and he took a long self-satisfied sip.

"Well, in a few years time Slytherin may be facing some stiff competition, Severus," piped up Sprout. "If the Potter boy flies as well as his father did."

Snape gripped his glass so tightly his fingers turned white and he had to fight down the urge to dump his mead all over Sprout's head.

But the urge passed, and they chatted about other things. Snape didn't say much, he never did, but found he didn't really mind being there, sipping his mead and listening to an animated discussion about experimental charms and Sprout's attempts at breeding a higher-yielding Shrivelfig. When he'd finished his mead he set his glass down and stood up. It wouldn't do for all the Heads to be out of school at once, and the Corlett girl was due back any minute.

And it was a relief to be alone after all that socializing. A need, and not just a preference.

Snape had just sat down in his office to read another mystery when there was a flash of blue and Miss Corlett appeared, clutching a cat carrier in one hand and a trunk handle in the other. She was dressed in Muggle clothes, a jumper and jeans, but he decided not to say anything about it just then. She seemed to have shed whatever ideas Rowle had put into her head about such things, and he wouldn't be the one to set her back.

"You are to go straight to your dormitory," said Snape. "And starting to tomorrow you will serve a week's worth of detentions, in addition to the weekly detentions you're already serving."

There was no trace of defiance in the girl's face. She seemed to know she deserved it. "Yes sir."

Snape leaned back in his chair and held his book up to his face. "Oh, and you're banned from Hogsmeade."

As far as he knew her trips into Hogsmeade had nothing to do with her plotting attacks on fellow students, but it seemed like a fitting punishment nonetheless.

"Just for this term, or...?"

"Until you leave," said Snape, not looking up from his book.

The girl was quiet a moment. "Yes sir."

Snape's ears were assaulted by the sound of her trunk dragging across the stone floor and a cat whinging. He flicked his wand towards the trunk and made it small enough for her to carry.

"Thank you sir," said the girl.

Snape grunted out a reply and went back to his book.

* * *

The rest of the school must've found out about her suspension, because Graihagh could feel their eyes on her everywhere she went. Sometimes she felt as though she were outside of her own body, seeing them from some distance, some height.

After she'd eaten a quick dinner she decided to go for a long walk in the grounds. There was hardly anyone around, and she liked the quiet. She walked along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but didn't go in.

There was rustling and snorting nearby and when Graihagh turned towards the sound she saw Hagrid, holding onto a long leather line and urging something forward. Whatever it was she couldn't see it. He must have seen her watching, because he turned to her.

"'Lo," he said.

"Hello Hagrid. Is that a Thestral?"

"Yep," he said. "Juvenile. I'm trainin' him ter pull a carriage."

Graihagh shivered. She could hear it snorting and pawing at the ground, but she couldn't see it. Yet she'd come so close. If she hadn't got to Thorfinn in time, if Snape hadn't been there for Milo...She couldn't stay there any longer. She turned and went back to the castle.

When she got back to the common room she sank onto a chair in a far corner of the room, gazing out the window at the lake water. Livia was sitting at a table with Emily and her friends, chatting and doing schoolwork. Maybe someday Graihagh would have the nerve to ask if she could join them, she didn't know.

After awhile Milo sank into a chair beside her, arms crossed over his chest, long skinny legs stretched out in front of him. Graihagh remembered when his feet didn't even touch the floor.

"Alright?" she said, because she had no idea what else to say.

"Yeah." Milo's jaw was set and his eyes were blank in a way that said he really wasn't.

"Did you-were you able to stay here?"

"Yeah. I did detention with Professor Snape every night."

Graihagh didn't say anything to this. They were doing well just to be there, and they both knew it.

"I was banned from the team."

Milo's words were like a blow to the stomach. She was the one who got him on the team in the first place, got his hopes up, gave him a taste of what it felt like to fit in. And she'd taken it away from him.

She squeezed her hands together and didn't look at him. "Oh shit. I'm so sorry."

Milo said nothing to this, and she looked at him out of the corners of her eye, wondering what he was thinking, dreading his anger, because as much as she blamed herself she didn't want him blaming her too.

His expression was hard to read. Mostly he just looked tired.

They sat side by side, not speaking. Sometimes Graihagh would think of something to say and change her mind. All her words just seemed hollow and stupid.

After awhile Scooter came out of the dormitory and started rubbing her legs. She bent down to scratch him behind the ears and caught sight of something yellow underneath her chair. She bent down a bit further and reached for whatever it was with her fingertips, holding it up in front of her face. The Keeper for the Wimbourne Wasps, she thought it was. Milo had spent hours on this figurine.

"Look what I found." She held it up for him to see.

Milo took the figurine from her and held it front of him, elbows resting on his knees, foreheard creased. Graihagh understood how he felt. Like he was looking at a piece of himself he couldn't get back.

"Maybe you could make more of them," she said.

Milo set the figurine down on the table, where it stared at them with its frozen smile. "Yeah. Maybe." He leaned back and Merlin jumped onto his lap. Milo absently scratched his ears.

Graihagh glanced at the clock on the wall, with its zodiac symbols and pictures of the moon and the stars. She still had half an hour before her detention, but there was something she needed to do first.

"I'd better go. I've got detention with Snape."

"See you."

Graihagh didn't know Cate's schedule anymore, but there was a chance she'd be coming back from dinner or from the library. If she had to wait all night and risk Snape's wrath for skipping her detention, she would.

She didn't know how long she'd been waiting when she saw her walking beside Theodora as she always did. Graihagh wanted to love Theo for it. But mostly she was angry that she wasn't her, that she didn't get to be someone who didn't fuck up.

Cate glanced at Graihagh and then at Theodora.

"Go on ahead," she said. Theo raised an eyebrow and threw Graihagh a dark look before rapping the barrel and disappearing into the common room.

When Cate turned to Graihagh her eyes were serious and she wasn't smiling. If she hadn't known anything before about Graihagh's part in what had happened, she knew now. Everyone did.

Graihagh had no idea what to say. She hadn't saved her life. She'd only stopped her from being killed as a result of her own recklessness and stupidity.

Her mouth was dry and she had trouble getting the words out.

"So how have you been?"

"Fine. You?"

"Er-"

Their words were so polite, so trivial, so utterly inadequate to capture that hugeness of everything that had happened.

Graihagh squeezed her hands together. "Listen, Cate." She took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry. About everything."

Cate let out a long sigh. "I don't really know what to think about any of this."

"I know."

Cate hugged her arms to her chest and paced the corridor. "I mean, what if someone had died? What if I'd died?"

"I know. I think about it all the time. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

Cate stared straight ahead as though she hadn't heard her. "Why didn't you say anything? When he called me a..." She took a shaky breath and her voice rose. "You didn't even do anything. You just stood there and didn't do anything."

Graihagh knew Cate thought about it all the time, knew because she did too, because she never forgot her wide-eyed shock.

"I was a fucking coward. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, I can't argue with you on that one." Cate was quiet again, staring down at the stones. Graihagh waited for her to talk, fighting like hell to keep her shame from turning to anger like it always used to.

"I just don't see how I could ever trust you again, do you know what I mean?"

"I know."

Cate stopped pacing and adjusted the strap on her schoolbag. "I have to go."

Graihagh opened her mouth but before she could say anything Cate rapped the barrel and disappeared into the common room, Graihagh staring after her. The ground fell away from her feet. Maybe it wasn't real. Maybe none of this was real.

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there when she remembered her detention. Snape's office wasn't that far from the Hufflepuff basement but Graihagh took the stairs and the corridors at a run just the same, running until her side ached and her chest hurt because maybe if her body were in pain she wouldn't feel anything else.

"Madam Pomfrey has requested a Blood-Replenishing Potion," said Snape when she'd walked in. "I would like you to assist me with its preparation."

Graihagh just stood and stared at the cauldron, stomach clenched. She never wanted to see another cauldron again. She'd have given everything she had, all her talent, to erase what she'd done.

"Weigh these pelican feathers," said Snape. "They should be exactly one gram."

Graihagh took one between her fingers but she couldn't bring herself to do anything with it.

Snape glanced up from his pomegranates. "Is there a problem, Miss Corlett?"

Graihagh set down the feathers. "I don't think I want to do Potions anymore, sir. Can't I scrub cauldrons or something?"

Snape sliced a pomegranate in half. "Considering Potions is one of the few subjects you haven't failed, I think it most unwise for you to quit."

He had her there. But still.

"Why is it that you no longer wish to make potions, Miss Corlett?"

"It's just..." she tapped the table, trying to find the right words to express the fear inside her. "What if I do something horrible with them again?"

Snape set down his knife and looked at her. "You won't."

Graihagh's eyes met his, and she saw no trace of sarcasm there, no trace of anger. Only someone who saw her, believed her. "You don't think so sir?"

"No," said Snape. "Because if you do I'll have you thrown out of this school faster than you can say 'Felix Felicis.'"

Greasy bat. Graihagh played the pelican feathers between her fingers and didn't say anything.

"Has it occured to you," said Snape as he squeezed some pomegranate juice into a flask, "that this potion could save someone's life?"

Graihagh just stared at him rather stupidly. "Oh. Yeah. I suppose it could."

"And I think that makes it a rather more useful endeavor than scrubbing cauldrons, does it not?"

"Yeah. I reckon it does."

Snape swirled the flask in front of his face. "Then get to work."

Snape poured the juice into the cauldron and Graihagh set the pelican feathers on the scale, adding more and taking them away and cutting bits off until they weighed exactly a gram.

"Drop them into the mixture and give it one clockwise stir," said Snape. "Only a light movement is required. Stir too hard and it'll thicken prematurely."

Graihagh dropped the feathers into the cauldron and gripped her wooden stirring stick, the movements flowing from her mind into her hand, her intuition telling her just how to stir. Snape stood just behind her behind her, watching everything she did, but she was used to it now. He said nothing, which was as good as saying it was alright.

"Now we add the anenome flowers," said Snape.

Snape uncurled his fist and let the petals drop into the cauldron. The mixture turned a deep red and Graihagh breathed in something earthy and metallic.

And she was lying on the floor, watching her blood run across the stones.

She ran for the door, not thinking, not stopping, just running. She ran until her chest hurt and there was a stitch in her side and she didn't want to but she had to sit down.

"Miss Corlett?"

Graihagh shot up, wand drawn. "Stay away from me!"

Snape looked down at her wand. "I was merely checking to see how you are. But by all means hex me, I have a barrel full of rat spleens that need pickling and it's an extraordinarily tedious job."

His words barely registered. She looked wildly around the corridor for someplace to hide.

"Miss Corlett."

Graihagh's eyes darted to Snape. He'd put his hands up, palms facing out. "As you can see, I'm completely defenseless. There is no need for your wand."

Graihagh held her wand out in front of her, still winded and breathing hard, ready to hit him with the first hex she could think of.

"Nothing is going to happen. You are completely safe."

Graihagh didn't believe it.

"Look at the stones," said Snape. "Count them.

Something about his voice steadied steadied her. She counted the stones. One, two, three...she wondered how old they were. Four, five...had they been conjured, or had someone made them?

Her breathing slowed and she looked around the corridor. There was no on else there. She took a deep breath and lowered her wand

Snape considered her a moment. "Does this happen often?"

Graihagh almost didn't tell him, couldn't stand the thought of looking so weak. But she had to tell someone.

"Yeah."

"Come with me. I have something that may help you."

Graihagh followed him back to his office, a bit nervous about whatever it was he had to show her. Something illegal, probably. But that might not be so bad. She could do with something strong enough to make her forget everything.

Snape opened his desk drawer and pulled out a small flask of pale blue potion.

"It's a calming draught of my own invention. The Draught of Peace tends to cause grogginess and headaches when taken too often but I've found a way to lower the potency. Here."

Graihagh took a long drink. The potion was smooth and cool and tasted faintly of flowers and her tense muscles relaxed like she'd slipped in to a hot bath, but her mind wasn't foggy and numb the way it got with the Draught of Peace.

Graihagh handed the flask back. She was intrigued by this, the way he could simply tweak a few things and come up with an improved potion. "How'd you do it sir?"

"I let it simmer an additional twelve hours," said Snape. "And I halved the amount of Valerian root and replaced it with equal parts lavender and chamomile."

Graihagh just stared at him with her mouth slightly open. The idea of that human bat picking sprigs of lavender and running his hands along the tiny petals was almost too strange to be imagined, and yet somehow it fit him. He had a rough elegance, a hard grace, a sharp-edged softness. He wasn't like any man she'd ever met, or any woman. He lived in some shadowy liminal space that was all his own.

"What are you staring at Miss Corlett?"

Even with the potion, Graihagh was slightly horrified. "Nothing sir."

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "As you are not a complete dunce at potions, you should realize that lavender and chamomile have calming properties but are non-sedating, which lessens the side effects of the potion."

He was making perfect sense, of course. "Oh yeah. Right."

"Now, since you are obviously feeling calmer, you can tell me what the next step is." He gestured towards the red liquid in the cauldron.

"Well, according to the book you give it five clockwise stirs," said Graihagh. "But that seems a bit much. I don't know, to me this potion seems like it needs a lighter touch."

"An astute observation," said Snape. "What would you do instead?"

"Well," said Graihagh slowly, "maybe three stirs?"

Snape nodded. "Good. But even that can be a bit much. To achieve best results, give it two clockwise stirs and make the last stir counter-clockwise. Try it."

Graihagh picked up the wooden stirring-stick and swirled it clockwise around the cauldron two times, then, lifting it from the potion, she gave it the gentlest stir in the other direction. The colour darkened and the potion thickened just slightly and a thrill went through her. She loved this.

"Now what?" said Snape.

"Now you remove it from the heat and let it stand for twenty-four hours," said Graihagh. She lifted the cauldron from the fire and set it on the other end of the table.

Snape lowered a spoon into the potion and watched as it fell back into the cauldron. He didn't grimace or make any sharp remarks, so she supposed he must've been satisfied with it.

Graihagh traced the knots in the wood table with her finger. "Can I ask you something sir?"

"What is it?"

"Do you really think this potion could save someone's life?"

Snape set his spoon down and turned to face her. "It saved yours."

It took Graihagh a few seconds to register what he was saying. "So...you used this on me?"

"Yes," said Snape. "Which is why Madam Pomfrey needs more."

Sometimes, in that place between falling asleep and dreaming, she would hear snatches of Snape's song in her head, those strange ancient words and the haunting melody that was like a memory she wasn't sure was real. But she'd never thought much about what he'd done for her. How he'd saved her life. She still didn't understand why.

Snape's hair was lank and clung to his pale face. His skin was smooth but his cheekbones were sharp and there were the beginnings of worry lines across his forehead. He didn't look frightening anymore. Just tired, and sad maybe. She didn't know what to say to him. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Your detention is over," said Snape. "You may go."

"Yes sir." Graihagh gave him one last look and left the room.

* * *

**A/N: **I know there's nothing in canon to suggest that Dumbledore and Snape had a warm relationship, but I wanted to give them that in this one (at least a little!)

Thanks so much for reading! There's only one chapter left and it's finished, so I'll probably have that up later this week :)


	42. Chapter 42

Snape was at his desk marking essays, trying his best to endure his students' brain-rotting tripe, when someone pounded on his door.

"Bloody fucking hell, it never stops," he mumbled. He stood up and yanked the door open to find Miss Corlett standing there, wide-eyed and winded. His heart pounded against his ribs. Surely not another attack, he didn't see how it was possible.

"Sir, it's Milo. He's-I think he needs a calming draught or something."

Snape Summoned a flask and followed the girl to the Slytherin corridor, where Selwyn was slumped against the wall, clutching his head in his hands and siezing his hair.

Snape knelt down and put a hand to his arm.

Selwyn snatched his arm away but made no other sign that Snape was there. He stood up and watched him, racking his brains for a way to help. Stunning him would work, but it didn't seem right, somehow. Nor did a Confunding Charm.

He remembered all those nights in his room in Spinner's End when he'd hear his father shouting at his mother and he'd start to sweat and shake. He'd count the floorboards or close his eyes and list the ingredients to the potions he made at school, and sometimes he'd pull plants and flowers out of his pockets and touch them and smell them until he calmed down.

He didn't know if it would work now, but it was worth a try. He pulled a sprig of chamomile out of his pocket and held it out to the boy.

"Take it," he said, keeping his voice steady and low. He held it up to his face, so that it brushed the edges of his fingertips. "Breathe in."

The boy took a deep gasping breath, then another. He opened his eyes and studied the plant, running his index finger along the stems. He breathed in a few more times and looked up at Snape with his eyes narrowed as though Snape were mad, but he wasn't shaking anymore.

Selywn's face flushed red and he stood up, and Snape knew what he was thinking. _This never happened._

Snape was tempted to turn around and go and let the boy save face. But it would only make things worse for him in the long run.

"Come with me, Mr. Selwyn."

The boy hesitated, glancing towards the common room.

"Go on," said the girl. "He'll help you."

The boy put his hands in his pockets and followed Snape to his office.

"Here," said Snape, pulling a flask out of his desk and handing it to the boy. "This is a calming draught. It has a lower potency so you can take it as often as you need to."

The boy turned the flask around in his hands and examined it. "It's not...you know..."

The boy couldn't seem to get the words out, and Snape didn't know what he was on about.

"It's not addictive?" he finished.

The boy must've been thinking of his father. "No," said Snape.

Selwyn slipped the flask in his pocket. "Thanks," he said, so quietly Snape barely heard him.

Snape studied him a moment. The boy was so much like himself, but if what had happened meant anything to him, he wouldn't make the same mistakes, wouldn't go through the hell he had. He felt a surge of jealousy he coudn't explain, but there was something else with it, something almost as strong.

"If you need accomodation over the holidays, arrangements can be made," said Snape.

The boy flushed again, embarassed, perhaps, at how much Snape knew about his home life. "Thank you sir."

Snape was struck by his height, by how much deeper his voice had become. He'd watched him grow up, him and all the other Slytherins who'd started when he had. He supposed if he were a less sensible person he might be feeling emotional about it. Fortunately he was not such a sentimental fool.

"You may go," he said.

He left the room and he went back to his essays, but he his thoughts kept drifting to his students and he had no idea why.

* * *

Snape hadn't been sure at first, whether he'd be able to endure a week's worth of detentions with the Corlett girl, but she was talented enough, and her presence had its uses.

And though he would have never admitted it to anyone-he almost couldn't admit it to himself-part of him rather liked being able to talk potions with someone who understood, someone who loved them. Someone who'd fucked things up just like he had. There were times during those detentions he felt almost ordinary.

"We're clearly going to be needing more calming draught," he said when she walked into his office. "I would like you to assist me in its preparation."

"Yes sir."

The girl sat down at the table, where he'd arranged the ingredients. They worked in silence awhile, accompanied by the rhythm of pestles against mortar and knives against wood.

He'd just finished crushing his lavender petals when he felt her eyes on him. He raised his head and arched an eyebrow, but instead of getting back to work the girl took it as an invitation to speak.

"Can I ask you something, sir?"

"Obviously, since you just did."

"I was just wondering if you wrote that letter last week?"

"I did," he said. He knew why she'd asked, but waited for her to say it.

"Did you mean that part about me being gifted?"

"Yes. Which makes your misuse of that gift all the more egregious. Stop throwing it away."

"Yes sir."

Snape was becoming distinctly uncomfortable now, and glanced down at his valerian roots, hoping she would take the hint. To his relief she did, and it was quiet again.

He finished slicing the roots and was about to drop them into the cauldron when he felt her eyes on him again.

"What is it, Miss Corlett?" he asked, a touch of impatience in his voice. If she thought they were going to stand there and have a nice little chat about her personal life, she could forget it.

"Well it's just...erm...I wanted to thank you. For saving Milo's life. And for saving my life."

Snape didn't know what he'd been expecting her to say, but it wasn't this. He wouldn't say that he was touched, exactly, but he felt something.

"Not at all," he said, voice stilted and stiff.

And before he knew what was happening she threw her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder.

What the _hell_-

"Thank you," she said, her words muffled against his shoulder.

Snape was too shocked to pull away. It'd probably be less awkward to just let her get on with it anyway. Only he couldn't figure out why his eyes were watering. Probably his potion ingredients, some of them were rather astringent.

He patted her on the back and the girl let go and jumped back with a slightly horrified look on her face, as though Snape might give her a thousand detentions. But he'd never been less inclined to punish her.

Snape adjusted his robes, which had pulled away from his shoulders when she'd thrown her arms around him. "Should we carry on then?"

"Right," said the girl, in a brisk voice that indicated she was prepared to never speak of what just happened.

They worked in silence awhile, adding ingredients to the cauldron and murmuring incantations. When Snape lowered the heat to let it simmer the required ten minutes he and the girl stood at opposite ends of the table, staring into the cauldron.

"I was just wondering sir," said the girl, in a hesitant voice that told Snape she was about to get personal. "Were you a Death Eater?"

There was no harm in telling her, he supposed. Everyone would know eventually.

"I was."

"Do you regret it?"

Snape's hand twitched on his wand. The girl's face was as serious as he'd ever seen it, and he looked back at her, just as serious, aware of how narrowly she had avoided his own fate. She didn't seem the type to spread the story far and wide, but still, he was taking a risk, telling her this. Even if he tried to take it back later, to pretend he'd just been keeping cover, there was no guarantee she'd believe his lie. And he wasn't sure he wanted her to.

"Yes," he said. "I regret it."

She looked down at the cauldron again, but something about her silence told Snape she wasn't finished yet. He tensed, waiting for the question, waiting for her to ask just why it was he regretted it. He didn't know that he wanted to lie, but he couldn't bear to tell her the truth.

"Sir-that spell you did-the one that heals wounds-can you teach it to me?"

He breathed out his relief and drew his wand out of the pocket of his robes. "I suppose so."

He walked to the front of the table and held his wand out in front of him, and the girl did the same.

"Now," he said, using the well-practiced tone he took when teaching a class, "the incantation is _VUL-nera Sa-NEN-tur."_

"_Vulnera_ _Sanetur_-sorry, _VUL-nera Sa-NEN-tur_."

"Good. You will need to trace the wound with your wand." He pulled up the sleeve of his left forearm, where his Dark Mark had faded away, and ran his wand along the skin, as though tracing a wound. She pulled up her own sleeve and Snape saw a small scar there, as though she'd been cut with a knife. He knew what it was, but didn't ask. She'd put it behind her.

"You repeat the incantation three times, but the words themselves aren't enough. You must feel the need to protect whomever it is you are performing the spell on." She nodded, face set in concentration, and they ran their wands along their forearms, singing the incantation together.

"_Vulnera Sanentur._"

"_Vulnera Sanentur."_

"_Vulnera Sanentur."_

As he formed the incantation with his mouth he pictured the way the wounds would mend themselves, the way they'd heal, and he thought it just might have been the most powerful spell he'd created.

* * *

Graihagh was sitting beside Milo in their old corner, finishing an essay for Sprout but mostly just staring out the window at the lake water. Milo was bent over a book.

They didn't say much during those long hours they sat together, and they didn't need to. They'd been through so much, and they had so far left to go.

After awhile Milo closed his book and put it in his bag.

"How's Charms going?" said Graihagh.

Milo shrugged. "Alright."

Graihagh tapped her quill against her parchment and glanced at Milo.

"Do you want to spend Christmas with me?"

Milo didn't smile, but his eyes were a bit softer. "Thanks, but I think I'll spend it here."

"Sure," said Graihagh. She understood. The castle would be quiet and peaceful then. He needed that.

"Listen, there's something I need to do, but I'll see you later, alright?"

Milo nodded, and Graihagh packed her books away and tossed the bag on her bed. Just before she left the common room she glanced back at Milo, and she could've sworn he was taking a paintbrush out of his bag. She'd have to get him some new ones for Christmas.

Graihagh didn't know how long she'd been standing outside the Hufflepuff common room when Cate and Theodora came walking down the corridor, a few hours maybe. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw her.

Theodora narrowed her eyes at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I just needed to talk to Cate. Just this once, and I'll never bother her again, I promise."

Theodora locked eyes with Cate and Graihagh bit her lip and stifled her anger.

"Go on," said Cate. "I'll meet you in a bit." She turned to Graihagh, arms crossed over her chest. "Well, what is it that you have to say?"

"That you saved my life."

Cate's forehead creased and her eyes clouded with something like fear and Graihagh wondered if she'd reminded her of things she'd rather forget.

"I mean, you got Snape for me and I'm so-I can't thank you enough for that. But also I heard your voice in my head."

"What do you mean?"

"I remembered that time when I said I didn't know who I was. But you did. You always knew me, didn't you? And then I knew what to do."

Cate didn't say anything, just looked at her with those eyes that she could never hide from.

"If I never want to talk to me again I understand. I just needed to tell you that."

Cate just stared at her, eyes full of something Graihagh couldn't see. After awhile she glanced down at the stairs and lowered her arms. "Do you want to sit down?"

Graihagh was so afraid it wasn't real she couldn't look at her. "Yeah."

They sat down on opposite sides of the steps.

Cate reached into the pocket of her cordoroy trousers and pulled out a bag of Every Flavour Beans. "Want some?"

Graihagh could've cried with relief. "Thanks."

Cate stuffed a handful into her mouth and chewed on them in a thoughtful way.

"It's sort of weird," she said. "About Snape I mean. He's always got a cob on but when...I had to go for help, he was the first person I thought of. And then he saved your life and everything."

"I know. I think underneath it all he's really a good person, you know?"

"Well, you could be right about that. Which is really impressive considering he's a werewolf and everything."

Graihagh choked on a bean. "What?"

"Well he's always out prowling the grounds at the full moon, isn't he?"

Graihagh smiled. "He's probably looking for potion ingredients. Some of them can only be picked at the full moon."

"Oh. Well that makes sense."

Graihagh popped another bean into her mouth. "Ugh, I think this one is shoe polish or something, it's disgusting."

"You know, if you mix the dirt ones with the marmite ones it tastes just like chips and gravy."

"I'll take your word for it," said Graihagh. She looked down at the beans in her palm. "I wonder if we'll find any freezer-burned sausage roll flavoured ones."

Cate's nose wrinkled the way it always did whenever Graihagh said something weird. "What? You actually remember that?"

"I think about it all the time." She played the sleeve of her robes between her fingers. "This might sound stupid but...when you walked into that compartment...I mean...well that was one of the best things that ever happened to me." She glanced away, wondering if she was over-doing things a bit, but she meant every word.

"And to think all I got out of it was five-and-a-half years of you being a pain in my arse," said Cate, but she was smiling a bit.

"You're not wrong."

Cate's expression turned serious. "Now I'll tell you something. I was so fucking scared when I saw what happened to you. Sometimes I have nightmares about it. Or I'll be doing something and something will remind me of it and I just sort of freeze all over."

Graihagh moved closer to her. "I know how you feel. Why don't you see Madam Pomfrey? Or Professor Snape, he makes a calming draught. It really works. Here," she said, pulling a bottle out of her pocket and handing it to her. "I've got some you can have."

Cate took the bottle and turned it around in her hand, examining the pale blue liquid, but she wasn't smiling and Graihagh was so afraid Cate would give the bottle back, wouldn't trust her enough to take it, her heart pounded.

"It's a nice shade of blue," said Cate after awhile. "Sort of like drinking the sky." She tucked it into her schoolbag.

Graihagh had no idea how to tell her how much this small thing meant to her. "Listen, if you ever need more I can always get some for you."

Cate's eyes met hers, and they were warm. "Thanks." She slung her bag over her shoulder and stood up. "I have to go, but do you want to meet here after breakfast tomorrow? I don't have anything going on."

"Yeah. I'd love to."

"See you then."

Cate disappeared down the corridor and Grahaigh stayed on the steps, thinking over everything that had happened.

The sound of Snape's desperate sobbing had stayed with her all those years, like a snatch of an old song, and as she sat on those stairs thinking understanding washed over her. He hadn't been crying for the Dark Lord. Someone else had died too, who she didn't know, but it must've been someone he cared about.

She went back to the common room and worked on an essay for Flitwick, but the question played in her mind like background music, and when it was time for her detention with Snape it was all she could think about.

Snape was setting some flasks on the table when Graihagh walked into the office. "Madam Pomfrey has requested more Essence of Rue," he said.

"Right," said took her place at the work table and looked at his young face, the face of someone who'd lived a hundred years, and she thought of all he must have been through, and all he'd done for her.

_You must __feel the need __to protect whomever it is you are performing the spell on_

He hadn't saved her life just to avoid suspicion. The spell didn't work that way.

"Sir," she said, when their potion was simmering and there was nothing else to do. "Could I ask you something?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to write a tell-all interview Miss Corlett?"

Graihagh's face was hot and she could barely look at him but she had to know. "I was just wondering sir...well, did they kill someone close to you? The Death Eaters I mean?"

The flash of fear in his eyes lasted less than a second, but she knew she hadn't imagined it. He glanced away and traced the table with a long finger.

"No," he said.

But Graihagh knew he was lying. And why she was so certain of it she couldn't really explain, but she knew Snape was thinking the same thing.

Graihagh could sense the change, as though the air had become heavy with the weight of what they'd shared. And yet it wasn't a bad feeling at all.

Snape checked his watch. "Ten minutes," he said. "Time to take it off the heat."

"Right," said Graihagh. She lifted the cauldron and set it on the opposite side of the table beside the empty flasks.

They worked in comfortable silence awhile, ladling the potion in the flasks. Snape cleaned the cauldron while Graihagh washed the ladles and stirring sticks in a stone basin in a far corner of the room.

"That is all for the evening," he said when they'd finished.

Graihagh nodded and made her way to the door, but when she reached it she stopped and turned to face him. "Goodnight sir. And thank you."

Snape nodded and when their eyes met she knew he understood.

* * *

**A/N: **And that's it! Thank you SO MUCH all of you! I appreciate every single one of you. Thank you to everyone who has favorited/followed, and thank you so much to TinkerBellNeverland, YamiBlue7, Lizzy Lizard Snape and PearlM21 for the lovely reviews, I was so thrilled to get them!


	43. Sequel Preview

**A/N: **Hey everyone, I am writing a sequel to Vulnera Sanentur that takes place 16 years later when Snape is Headmaster, with a Snape/OC ship. I thought I'd update with a preview in case anyone is interested :) (and if not that's totally fine, this will be the only update!) Thanks so much for following Vulnera Sanentur!

Rated M for suicidal thoughts, descriptions of torture/violence, implied/referenced domestic violence/substance use, and probably sexual content in later chapters. It's going to be a bit dark but it won't end that way, promise :)

* * *

Snape had a lot of duties as head of Slytherin House-too many, they didn't pay him enough-but one of his most bizarre tasks was waking them up in the morning. To be sure, he didn't have to do it all that often, just when one of them consistently failed to show up to class, but it never got any less awkward.

He read over the note from Minerva two or three times just to be sure he wasn't imagining the whole thing before crumpling it up in a ball on his desk. Of course it would have to be a girl. One Astoria Greengrass, a fourth-year, who'd been skiving off Transfiguration for two weeks. He tossed the parchment ball into the fireplace and made his way to the Slytherin dormitories.

There were a few people in the common room lounging about on the sofas or bent over parchment, trying to finish last-minute essays he supposed. They looked up as he passed and went back to whatever it was they were doing without a second glance. His presence in the common room wasn't unheard of; he liked to drop in from time to time, not to sit and dole out life advice and tell them they could change the world or any such nonsense, but to check on their welfare, see how they were dealing with the strain of the war. To remind them that even though the rest of the school had written them off and their parents had their futures mapped out, they still had choices.

The dormitories were dark and quiet and Snape wondered if he wouldn't have to do anything after all, when he heard rustling and low whispers coming from the fourth-year girls' room.

Snape knocked on the door. "This is Professor Snape. You have ten seconds to make yourselves presentable."

An outbreak of shrieking, followed by the frantic rustling of fabric. Snape waited until it was quiet before he yanked door open. Miss Greengrass and five of her friends were sitting on their beds with their mouths slightly open like characters in a cartoon.

Miss Greengrass stared at him. "What are you doing here, Professor?"

"I'm here to wish you a good morning and see if you need anything," said Snape.

"Really?"

"No. Now get up, and if I see that you've slept throught Transfiguration again it's detention. It's your best subject, you have no business throwing it away."

Miss Greengrass looked genuinely ashamed. "Yes sir."

Snape knew her family. No doubt she and her sister were expected to make respectable Pureblood marriages and carry on the family line, or else don their cloaks and masks and become martyrs to the cause, no need for O. either way, but he'd seen too many people lost that way. He gave her one last glare to show he meant business and turned to leave and he'd just reached the door when a small voice spoke up.

"Erm, Professor?"

"What is it?"

"Well, the girls' toilets are out of, erm...feminine things." Two of her friends stifled laughs behind their hands.

This wasn't purgatory. It was the ninth circle of hell.

"Very well," Snape said stiffly. "I'll have one of the house-elves refill them. Now, is there anything else?" he asked, making it plain by his expression that there had better not be.

"No sir."

Snape took care of this most unpleasant business with one of the house-elves and went to his office and ate a bag of Every-Flavour beans before heading to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

He'd been teaching for sixteen years now, but his pre-class ritual never changed. He'd walk the room three or four times, going over his lines like an actor in the wings, then lean down on his desk, tapping out a rhythm against the wood to soothe his nerves. By the time his students walked into the room he'd be standing straight, brows furrowed, ready to stare them down and snuff out every challenge to his authority, because he would not be the fool. Not in front of them.

The sixth years filed in a few minutes to the hour, and there was the usual shuffling and rustling and dull thunk of books against the wooden desks. Snape's eyes darted around the room like a searchlight in a prison yard.

"Mr. Finnigan, put that away. Ms. Fawcett and Mr. Stebbins, hands above your desk. Now."

The boy was always one of the last to come in, flanked by Weasley and Granger the way he always was, limbs swaggering, face smug, black hair sticking out the back of his head. Snape wondered if he ran his hands through it the way his father had. Probably.

The thought was always surfacing in his mind.

_The boy is going to die. _

Snape shoved it back down. He had to focus.

"Disillusionment Charms," he said as soon as he'd closed the door. "Now who can tell me the advantage-Miss Granger?" He didn't know why he even bothered with the disdain in his voice; in nearly six years it had done absolutely nothing to dissuade her. She was one of the brightest he'd ever taught, but he didn't see any need to tell her that, when she never lost an opportunity to show off.

"A Disillusionment Charm causes the recipient to blend in with their surroundings, effectively making them invisible," said Miss Granger in a stilted voice, like she was reciting something she'd memorized, because that was exactly what she was doing.

"And the disadvantages?"

"It's difficult to do well. Done poorly, you can still be seen. Also, it takes time to cast."

"Correct. A Disillusionment Charm is not much help when one is in immediate danger of being attacked, but it can be useful when you need to launch a surprise attack, or escape without being seen." Snape paced, around the room, staring them down, demanding their fullest attention, because they had no idea what they were facing, because most of them were too slow-witted to be any use in a duel, and this spell could be the thing that saved their lives. "Now, the incantation is simple enough. Repeat after me. _Occulo."_

_"Occulo."_

"Again. Emphasis on the second syllable. _oc-CUL-o."_

_"Oc-CUL-o."_

"Now, the wand movements are rather complex-"

The wooden door creaked and Draco walked into the room, hair lank like he'd been sweating, eyes down, face lined. He pulled his book out but didn't look at him, just stared at the wall. He was too bloody young to look like a sick old man. Snape studied him a moment, then turned back to the class.

"As I was saying, the wand movements are complex, so I want your fullest attention."

He demonstrated the movements and told them to stand up and Disillusion themselves while he wove between them making corrections, frustration mounting as not a single one of them except the Granger girl managed to fade into their surroundings. They were sitting ducks, every single one of them, but especially the Muggle-borns.

He walked over to Longbotttom, who was concentrating so hard his face was lined and had managed to make his arms fade just slightly. He was clearly capable enough, when he worked at it. Whatever Snape said would likely just break his concentration, so he walked over to Weasley, who was holding his arm up in front of Potter's face.

"...think it's a bit paler, look."

"It's as solid as your head, Weasley," said Snape from behind him. The boy started slightly and locked eyes with Potter, who scowled.

The boy's anger was more potent than any praise, any starry-eyed reverence; it set off a thrill that was almost like pleasure. He wanted him angry, wanted him scowling and sneering and yelling in his face. Let him be the who lost control, the one who made a fool of himself, while Snape stood over him the way he could never stand over his father.

"Well Potter," said Snape softly, "perhaps you could ask one of the Hogwarts ghosts for help with this spell. After all, unlike you they are _transparent_."

Potter stood up straighter opened his mouth, but Weasley put a hand to his arm and he closed it again. Snape's lips curled into a smile before he remembered.

He didn't even know.

When Snape had dismissed the class he watched Potter shove his books into his bag and walk away chatting with Weasley and Granger like ordinary teenagers with their whole lives ahead of them and _he didn't even know_.

Snape watched him so long he barely got to Draco in time.

"I'm glad to see you out the hospital wing," he said. "How are you feeling?"

Draco didn't meet his eyes, just glanced up at his forehead. Another little trick of Bellatrix's most likely, though Snape did it sometimes too, when he couldn't bear the thought of someone looking at his face.

"Fine."

"You look ill-"

"I said I'm fine. Will you please leave me alone? Sir," he added when Snape raised an eyebrow.

"As your Head of House I am responsible-"

"I told you, I don't need your help."

Draco pushed past him before he could say anything else.

Snape slammed his foot against his desk in frustration and when turned around the Parkinson girl was standing there watching him. Snape's face reddened but he started shuffling parchment as though he hadn't just been kicking furniture like an angry toddler.

"Yes?" said Snape. He noticed the way she was toying with the strap of her bookbag and knew she wasn't asking about the lesson.

"I'm sorry about-about what just happened with Draco. I wanted to thank you for what you did for him."

Snape relaxed some. He wouldn't say he was fond of the girl-he wouldn't say that about any of his students-but he liked her well enough. "Not at all."

He stood up straighter and shoved some parchment into his briefcase, but the girl made no motion to leave. Snape gave her a questioning look.

"I was just wondering if you've spoken to him much recently?"

He thought he knew where this was going. "No."

"So...he hasn't told you anything?"

"No." He looked her straight in the eye. "Has he told you anything?"

The girl made a face. "He never tells me anything anymore."

"I see. And I suppose you've noticed he's not been himself lately?"

"Yes sir." She tapped her fingers against her bag. "Sir-do you suppose it's got something to do with-" she glanced around, even though there was no one there. "With him?"

Well. The girl had to go and cut right to the chase. He shut the clasps of his briefcase, playing for time. The girl's parents weren't Death Eaters, as far as he knew, but that didn't mean the things he said wouldn't get back to the Dark Lord.

"It's possible," he said, and he wondered if the girl knew he'd been Marked. Probably. "Though if it does I don't know much more about it than you do." A half-truth, anyway. "Are you close?"

The girl's face flushed. "Sort of."

"Keep an eye on him then. You can always come to me if you have any concerns."

A dangerous invitation, but he supposed he'd just have to risk having to listen to banal teenage ramblings in exchange for information on Draco.

"Sir-are you-I mean..."

She didn't know. Draco hadn't told her, nor Crabbe or Goyle or Nott.

Something in his expression must have frightened her, because she closed her mouth. "Never mind."

"Is that all?"

"Yes sir."

She turned and left the room, and Snape was only too relieved to see the back of her.

* * *

Most evenings Snape holed himself away in his office but sometimes he'd go to the staffroom and pour himself a cup of tea and sit in front of the fire. Sprout might drop by with a new breed of plant to show him, or he might play bridge with Filch or talk with Flitwick or Burbage or Sinistra or someone.

He hadn't been there in weeks. Months, really. They couldn't know, they had no way of knowing, but he wondered sometimes if they caught something on his face, some guilt already written there. But maybe it wouldn't happen. Maybe they wouldn't know.

The vial was tucked away in his office, wrapped in a cloth and buried under a stack of parchment. A poison of his own making that took effect within minutes and simply stopped the heart-quick, painless, almost as peaceful as falling asleep. He could tell them the old man died naturally, tell them he'd take the credit with the Death Eaters, to maintain his cover. Maybe they'd even believe it.

When Snape had eaten his dinner he stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, between the dungeon door and the marble staircase, as though his feet were stuck to the stones and he couldn't take another step.

The clack of shoes on the stone could only be Minerva. Her human steps were the same as her cat steps, brisk, businesslike, no-nonsense.

"There you are Severus, I didn't get a chance to speak with you at dinner. Are you headed to the staff room?"

"Well-I suppose."

Minerva gave him a sideways glance as he fell in step beside her. "I was thinking of redecorating my office, you know. I found a rather nice hutch at an antique fair in Argyll last summer. The Quidditch cup will look perfect on it."

Snape smiled in spite of himself. "I think it might a better use of your time to think about what outfit to wear with your Ravenclaw badge."

"Not bloody likely, even if my Seeker is in detention."

Minerva's eyes were warm in spite of her salty tone and Snape felt a rush of affection he couldn't stifle. No matter how much Potter might squawk about Snape's unfair treatment, Minerva always backed him up, and it wasn't lost on him.

"Well, if you're so confident, why don't we make it double or quits?" said Snape. "If Gryffindor win, I owe you forty galleons. And when Ravenclaw inevitably win, I owe you nothing."

"You're on." She smiled. "Imagine, Slytherin not even in the running. Perhaps next year."

She didn't know. She had no idea. Snape was sick to his stomach.

"Are you alright Severus? You look like you've seen a Grim. Not that you believe in any of that bollocks, of course."

"It was nothing. I was just thinking about something."

They'd reached the staff room and Minerva pulled a bottle out of her robes and twisted the cap off. "Here," she said, pouring some into a teacup and filling the rest with hot tea. "You look like you could use this."

Snape muttered his thanks and took a long drink, sinking down deeper in his chair as the warmth spread though his body, but he fought it off, clenched his muscles tight, because he didn't deserve this, this comfort, this normalcy. But then again perhaps he should savour it, hold on to it. He sank back down again.

"Remember the end-of-term parties we used to have here?" said Minerva. "And that one year Flitwick set off all those fireworks?"

There was some comfort in dwelling on the past. He wished he could just close his eyes and live there. "My fondest memory is that Christmas you got drunk and called Lockhart a wee shite to his face."

Minerva snorted into her drink. "I'd almost forgotten about that." She stared into the space ahead of her as though reliving it, mouth turned up in a half-smile, but her eyes were serious. "Everything's different now."

And it would only get worse, and she didn't even know.

"Severus?"

Snape sat up straighter. Minerva was looking at him rather too closely.

"You're mind is a million miles away today. Anything troubling you?"

The situation was so absurd, so hopeless, Snape almost laughed. He opened his mouth, closed it, took a long drink.

"No."

"I think we both know that's rubbish, Severus. You don't need to hide anything from me."

She was looking straight at him, spectacles were halfway down her eyes, leaning forwards slightly in her chair, the way Lily used to when he was about to tell her a secret, and he could tell her, swear her to secrecy, and Dumbledore would never know, no one would have to know. She was no fool, she must've seen his hand, must've known something. But he knew she'd go to him, want to stop it, to say goodbye to her friend.

Snape took another long drink. The Scotch would loosen his lips and he could blame that. _It just slipped Headmaster._

And what would the old man say? That it was too dangerous, too big a risk. That their plans were a house of cards and one breath, one slip of the fingers could fuck the whole thing up.

They'd all hate him eventually anyway, for one reason or another. He couldn't really understand why they didn't already. It wasn't as though he went out of his way to be friendly. Maybe they just pitied him or something.

"It's been a long week. I haven't been sleeping well."

Minerva nodded in sympathy. "Of course. Draco's attack must have shaken you."

That was true enough. He hadn't seen anyone cut open and bleeding like that in years. Not since the Corlett girl.

"It was nearly fatal."

Minerva glanced down and tapped her fingers against her cup. "He didn't know what spell did."

Snape slammed his drink down on the side table and didn't say anything. He knew the boy didn't have a clue, but still. That his old book should end up in his hands, that he should use it to look brilliant at potions...not like his father finding it, but close enough.

"I'm just glad you were there for him, Severus," said Minerva over his thoughts. "And for Miss Bell. And for goodness knows how many other students over the years. I don't suppose I ever thanked you for that. But I'm doing it now."

She looked straight at him in that way she did, earnest and almost fierce.

Snape wished she hadn't said it. He murmured something indistinct and slid a finger around the rim of his glass.

He stood up and set the mug in the tray where the dirty dishes were stacked and made his way to the door. "Goodnight Minerva," he said, with a brief nod in her direction.

"Goodnight Severus. I do hope you have a restful evening."

Snape nodded, but he knew he wouldn't. He never did.

Severus spooned a pile of sugar into his coffee and swirled it around, scanning Great Hall for any troublemakers.

"Ready for the match, Severus?"

Snape might have found this a thinly-veiled insult, coming from most people, but Sprout's face was warm, open.

"I'm afraid I won't be going," said Snape. "I have to supervise Potter's detention."

"Ah, that's right, I'd almost forgotten." Sprout pulled her chair in and picked up her fork. "You'll have a time of it without your Seeker, Minerva."

"Oh, I'm not too worried," said Minerva with a rather smug glance at Snape. "Miss Weasley is no novice, you know."

"True enough," said Sprout. "Should be a good match."

Snape just stabbed at his back bacon.

He finished his breakfast quickly and Snape made his way to Filch's office, a small, dimly lit room just off the Entrance Hall. Filch was hunched over his desk, piling up wooden boxes, neck muscles taut with the effort. He set the last one down with a huff and wiped his forehead, Mrs. Norris rubbing at his arm.

"Morning Professor," he said.

"Good morning Filch." Snape walked over to a shelf full of little wooden animals and picked one up. "An Iberian Lynx?"

"Yes sir. Just finished that one."

Snape turned it around in his fingers. Whittled without magic, obviously, but no less skillfully done. "Very detailed."

"Thank you, Professor."

Snape set the lynx down. "Is that all of them?"

"Yes sir. 1970-1979."

Forty-four boxes of files for just ten years. But Snape knew perfectly well why.

"I'll take these to my office." He waved his wand and made the boxes small enough to fit in his hand.

"I like your thinking. Show the little beast who's in charge and get summat useful done all in one go."

"Indeed."

Snape took the boxes back to his office, returning them to their usual size, and flipped through some of the files. Potter and Black and Lupin and Pettigrew, over and over and over. But the worst of it wasn't in any of those boxes.

There was a knock at the door and Snape shoved the card back into the box and let Potter inside.

"Ah, Potter."

Potter's mouth was tight, eyes fierce, every muscle in his face straining under the effort of holding back his anger, but his face fell when he saw the boxes arranged on the table.

"Mr. Filch has been looking for someone to clear out these old files," said Snape. He repeated the instructions Filch had given him, watching him closely for a reaction.

"Right, Professor."

Snape heard the disdain in his voice, the contempt, and he liked it, welcomed it, wanted him angry, wanted to know he could. That he had that power over him.

"I thought you could start with boxes one thousand and twelve to one thousand and fifty-six. You will find some familiar names in there, which should add interest to the task. Here, you see..."

He read out the offense, something stupid and petty that might chip away at whatever mythos he'd constructed about his father and Black. He couldn't make his father regret things they'd done. But maybe the boy would.

Snape pulled out an old mystery, listening to the scratching of Potter's quill as he read. Sometimes he'd stop for a moment, and when Snape glanced at him he was staring down at the cards with his eyes widened, mouth thin and tight.

He was troubled, that much he knew. Maybe even ashamed. Ashamed in a way his father never had been. Maybe he wasn't like him...

Snape threw down his quill and rubbed his head and the boy glanced up at him and he was not about to let him see this, this strange sudden weakness. He narrowed his eyes at him and the boy bent back down over his cards.

His head was swimming with so many thoughts he couldn't concentrate, and after what felt like days, he set his quill down.

"I think that will do. Mark the place you have reached. You will continue at ten o'clock next Saturday."

"Yes sir."

Potter's eyes were green slits the way Lily's used to get and Snape looked away so he wouldn't see them.

Potter marked his place and hurried away before Snape could say another word to him, and Snape stared after him, not understanding why he wanted to.

* * *

The castle was quiet, but he could see bits of red and gold confetti strewn about the Entrance Hall, and he knew Gryffindor had won the cup. He'd have to face Minerva and the others eventually, but he wanted to spend the afternoon holed up in his office away from everyone.

He flicked his wand and got a fire going and picked up the Daily Prophet he hadn't finished at breakfast. He'd just finished a worse than useless article on personal defence when he saw the story, buried at the bottom of page 5-B. Thorfinn Rowle was out of Azkaban.

The girl didn't live in Britain, but that wouldn't stop him going after her. He'd tried it before.

He crumpled the paper and threw it into the fireplace. Everyone he'd tried to protect was marked for death, and none of them knew.

There was something weird about Graihagh's bed, the mattress was bare and she didn't have a pillow, just a t-shirt stuck under her head. She wondered if she'd climbed into Milo's bed the way she did sometimes after a nightmare, but Milo would've had an extra pillow for her, he wouldn't have just handed her a wadded up t-shirt. She opened her eyes a crack and that's when she remembered something about a party and some man, Gavin she thought his name was, she couldn't really remember. She'd gone upstairs with him and they'd fooled around a bit but Graihagh had stopped him from going any further and he'd shoved her aside as he stood up and called her a bitch. Or at least she thought he had, she'd been throwing up at the time.

She looked down at her bare arms, too aware of her lank hair, her stale breath, the silver-white scar down her side. So open, so...vulnerable. Not a good look, but Gavin or whatever his name was probably hadn't noticed.

She rummaged around the pile of clothes on the floor until she found her top, and when she'd put it on she reached for the t-shirt she'd slept on and turned it over. The Stone Roses, 95' tour. So Gavin wasn't a complete loser, that was something.

The stairs creaked too loudly even when she walked softly, like they were announcing her quick escape to the whole bloody house, but no one was awake except for a few people in the kitchen who were crying and carrying on about something, a bad comedown probably.

She walked past them and into the lounge, stepping around the cups and wrappers and bits of rubbish that were strewn everywhere, smiling a bit when she saw a man passed out on the settee with a cock and balls drawn on his face in black ink, and when she'd reached the front door she buttoned up her coat and stepped outside.

She wasn't really sorry to leave the place behind, but she knew she'd run into Gavin again at the Shoprite or the pub or another party somewhere. The Isle of Man wasn't a big place, and the boundaries between the wizarding world and the Muggle world were looser, more fluid than they were in the UK. The Muggles knew bugganes and little people were real, even if they couldn't see them, and the Manx Ministry officials weren't about to swoop down on someone just for running their mouth off a bit and doing a few spells. Graihagh only wished she'd known it years ago, so she could've told her grandmother what she really was. She never did know.

The cloudy-white sky was way too bright and Graihagh squinted and shaded her eyes and tried to ignore her pounding head. Milo liked to leave the curtains drawn so their flat would be nice and dark at least.

She'd almost reached her street when she saw a flash of black disappear around a corner and she froze, every muscle rigid. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and looked around the street, but it was quiet, empty. Probably nothing. She started walking again, faster, until she was almost running.

The flat was quiet and Graihagh practically tiptoed past Milo's room, careful not to wake him. He was a light sleeper and it startled him sometimes when she stumbled through the door in the morning. He was as close as a brother-he _was_ her brother, that's what she told everyone, she didn't care about things like blood-and he wasn't afraid to give her hell. They didn't like the kind of parties she sometimes went to, Milo and her dad, but it wasn't like she was turning into her mother. She was careful, most of the time.

She took an aspirin and slept a few more hours, getting up with just enough time to shower and shove down a few pieces of toast before work. She only worked noon to five on Saturdays, but she wouldn't have minded going longer. She didn't have time to think about anything else when she was bent over a cauldron making potions.

Graihagh took a deep breath every time she walked into the shop, even though she was so used to the smell she could barely detect it. Earthy, sharp, bitter, sweet, all mingling together, waiting to be turned into something powerful.

She went to the workroom in the back to hang up her coat and nodded to the shop owner, who was leaning so far back in his chair the front legs were tipped up, slicing roots and letting the shavings fall to the wood floor.

"Alright Owain?"

"'Lo," he grunted.

Graihagh liked Owain. He had a habit of eating potions ingredients and picking his teeth after and he told long rambling stories that went absolutely nowhere, but he was a skilled potioneer, and he gave her the space to create. Potion-making was as much an art as a science, he'd told her. She couldn't be expected to make her potions the same way he did.

There was no one out front, so she stayed in the workroom and looked over some order forms. St. Maugholds, the wizarding hospital, had requested some antidotes and a Blood-Replenishing solution. There was an order for Wolfsbane, and another for Veritaserum. And she and Milo needed more calming draught, not the kind usually sold in shops or given out in hospitals, but one Professor Snape had invented himself and taught her to make years ago, one that soothed her anxiety without numbing her head. She could always take something stronger, when she wanted her head numb.

Just about every potion she made she'd learned from Snape, during all the detentions she spent with him in his office, every Friday night for three and half years. They mostly worked in silence, but sometimes they'd talk about plants or techniques or famous potioneers, things they couldn't talk about so much with other people. She'd told him a bit about her family and their life in Mann, and he told her about some of the near-disasters in his potion's classroom.

Graihagh saved the Wolfsbane for last, since it was so complex, and sliced up some pomegranates for the Blood-Replenishing Solution. She'd just strained the juice when the bell on the front door chimed.

"I'll get that," she said. She washed her hands at the stone basin and went to the front counter. A shy-looking child no older than eight or nine was standing by one of the shelves, looking up.

Graihagh walked over to them and smiled. "Can I help you?"

The child mumbled something she couldn't hear.

"Sorry?"

"Do you have any Levitation Draught?" The child's voice was a breath above a whisper.

Graihagh pulled a bottle off a high shelf and when the child set it on the counter she rang it up for them. "Excellent choice, you'll have a lot of fun with this. That'll be two galleons.

They plopped their galleons on the counter and Graihagh smiled and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Three drops should do it. Any more than that and you'll be stuck to the ceiling."

The child's mouth curled into a little smile and they clutched the bottle in both hands as though afraid of dropping it.

Graihagh watched them go and walked back to the storeroom, where Owain was finishing up the Blood-Replenishing Solution. She took three deep breaths when the sharp metallic smell hit her nose, the way she'd been taught, and counted the jars on the shelves.

Without really knowing why she pictured Snape bent over his cauldron, frowning in concentration, and on a whim she reached into a drawer where she kept a few photographs and bags of sweets and pulled out a letter.

_Dear Miss Corlett_

_I received your letter informing me that you have become a Master Potioneer and I suppose I ought to congratulate you. An impressive achievement for someone who only managed two N.E. . _

_Being a Slytherin you should have good business sense. And I suppose you're not a terrible potioneer, either._

_I wish you success in your endeavors and thank you for your kind words._

_Regards,_

_Professor S. Snape_

She didn't know why she kept the letter there, maybe she'd started doing it for luck or something. She couldn't help smiling a bit whenever she read it, even if he was a terse git. She'd run into him a few times in Knockturn Alley, but he'd been preoccupied and hadn't said much to her. She wondered how he was keeping, if he'd lightened up any since she'd last seen him. Probably not.

"If you're looking for something to do, you could get started on the Wolfsbane," said Owain over his cauldron. "I'll take care of the customers."

"Right." Graihagh pulled jars of ingredients off the shelves and set them on the table.

"Is this for someone local, d'you know?"

Owain looked up from his cauldron. "Why?"

Because everyone said werewolves were a menace, that was why, but she wasn't about to say that out loud. "Just curious."

"Doesn't matter," said Owain. "The potion makes them safe. Get to work."

"Right." Graihagh pushed the thought of werewolves aside and weighed and crushed and measured and stirred, losing all sense of time, seeing nothing but the mortar and pestle and cauldron. She didn't know Owain had gone to the front until he called for her.

"Someone here to see you."

She didn't have a clue who it could be. She kept to herself, mostly. "Tell them I'll just be a minute. I need to finish this up."

She gave the potion three stirs and took it off the heat. It would need a few days to mature.

She washed her stirring stick and wiped down her work table and when she walked out to the front a small woman was standing on her tiptoes and studying the label on a vial of Hair-Raising Potion.

"Cate?"

Cate lowered herself but she was still balanced on the front of her feet like a runner waiting for the starting gun. "That is the stupidest thing I've ever seen, who'd want to make their hair stand on end?"

"You're not wrong, but what are you doing here?"

"I'll tell you about it in a bit, d'you want to go for drinks?"

"I'd love to. I just need to finish up here."

She dashed back into the workroom and put the jars of ingredients back on the shelves and helped Owain count out the money in the till. The moment they were finished she put on her coat and walked with Cate to a wizarding pub a few blocks away.

"I almost forgot how windy it is here," said Cate, pulling her hair back with an elastic. "You had the right idea, cutting your hair short."

"Long hair is a pain in the arse," said Graihagh, smiling a bit, because she knew Cate remembered the utter rat's nest her hair used to be. She'd known her for years, ever since their first ride to Hogwarts, a friendship that had survived their quirks and their different houses and their misunderstandings and all the fucked up things Graihagh had done. She tried to tell herself it was just Cate's Hufflepuff loyalty that had kept their friendship going after everything that had happened, but she knew it wasn't. Cate was too hard on herself, too quick to forgive, or she would've cut her off years ago like nearly everyone else had.

"So what are you doing here?" she said when they'd sat down. "You didn't mention you were coming."

"I thought I'd surprise you. There's this bloke over in Peel who knows all kinds of folk songs. I wanted to learn some to teach my students."

"You're teaching them Manx folk songs? I love it."

"Thought you would."

A server came by with their appetizers and beer and Graihagh watched appreciatively as Cate downed a good quarter of hers in one go. She set her glass down and wiped the froth from her mouth with the back of her hand. "We had a great time, singing and telling stories. He was dead strange, mind. Told me he got shipwrecked once and rode home on a Kraken and that his ex-wife was a succubus."

Graihagh snorted into her beer. "Merlin, I've missed you."

"So have I."

They locked eyes but Graihagh could only meet them a second before glancing away. She hadn't seen Cate much since she married the year before, and she missed her far more than she let on. But it was better for her, that she was getting on with her life.

Graihagh ate her battered mushrooms and listened as Cate chatted away about her afternoon.

"So how's everything been?" said Graihagh when she could get a word in. "How's everything with Adrian?"

"Well, he's been getting on my case about joining the Order, but I don't know..."

"He's with the Order?"

"Yeah, just joined up. But I've always been rubbish at duelling, he knows that. I can't see how I'd be any use to them. But...things are getting sort of bad."

Cate didn't quite meet her eye and Graihagh could tell by the way she tapped her fingers against her glass that she knew more than she was letting on.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...I didn't want to tell you this, but you should know. They let Thorfinn Rowle out of Azkaban."

They couldn't have; she had to have heard wrong. "But he had a fifteen-year sentence."

"I know, but you know how things are. His family has a lot of influence, and anyway, it was a Muggle he went after, wasn't it? That doesn't count for as much as far as they're concerned."

"Are you sure you heard right?"

"Positive. I read it in the _Daily Prophet _this morning."

"_Fuck._" Graihagh rubbed her forehead with one hand as it sank in. He was out there somewhere. Maybe even in the pub. Graihagh looked over the room, studying every face, hand on her wand.

Cate put a hand to her arm. "It's ok, he can't leave the country."

Graihagh knew him to well to be reassured by this. And anyway, he still lived in the same country as Cate. She stood up and paced in front of their table. "Be careful. Please. He's going to go after you, I know he will."

"It'll be ok, don't worry. Adrian's put all kinds of protections round our house. And my students usually come to me, so I don't even have to go out much."

Graihagh couldn't look at her. It was her own fucking fault Thorfinn was after them in the first place.

Cate stood beside her. "Are you alright? D'you need a calming draught?"

Graihagh barely heard her. "No, it's okay. I'm fine."

They sat back down and finished their food, and the moment they were done Cate reached for her coat and threw it over her shoulders. "Listen, I have to get going, I told Adrian I wouldn't be out late and my Portkey leaves in ten minutes, but I'll send you an owl when I get home, okay?"

"Please do. I'll walk with you to the Portkey."

Graihagh put on her coat and reached into the pocket for her wand, tucking it up her sleeve. She glanced around the streets like a wary cat, but she didn't see anything out of place.

They walked through a wooded area near the River Glass until they came across a Pepsi can that was too accidental to be anything but deliberate. Cate nearly squeezed the air out of her giving her a hug.

"Be careful," she said. "It'll be alright."

"Yeah. You too."

When Cate had vanished she walked back to her flat, hand sweaty around her wand, but it wasn't until she'd reached her street that she saw a flash of black out of the corner of her eye. She could've imagined it, it could've been nothing, just a trick of the eye, but she remembered the black figure she'd seen earlier and she knew someone was there.

She didn't have a bloody clue how to do a Disillusionment Charm, and it was her own damn fault for bombing her Defense Against the Arts O.W.L. She silently cursed herself and looked over the street, wracking her brain for some idea. She couldn't just walk up to her flat, not with someone watching her.

She walked all over the neighbourhood, ducking into a chippy even though she'd just eaten and didn't feel much like doing it again, glancing out the window every few minutes. She waited until the street was empty before running back to the flat.

She closed the door behind her and locked it, jiggling the knob a few times to make sure she'd done it right. She could hear Milo talking to his friend Fynn, who came over sometimes. He was telling Fynn about his latest commission, a board game with enchanted pieces, his voice relaxed, happy even. She wouldn't say that Milo was a different person around Fynn, just calmer, more like himself.

She sank down next to them on the settee with every intention of keeping her mouth shut, but she must've done a poor job of it because they stopped talking.

"Something wrong?" said Milo.

Graihagh didn't want to tell him, but she supposed she had to. "Thorfinn's out of Azkaban. Cate told me."

"Are you sure?"

"It was in the _Prophet_."

Milo glanced around the flat as though he might be hiding behind a piece of furniture. "Did you see anyone on the way here?

"I-maybe. I might've seen someone. I don't really know."

Milo rested his head in his hands. "This cannot be fucking happening."

Graihagh sat closer to him and stroked his back. She hated to see him like that. "I'm sorry."

Fynn looked from one to the other, nonplussed. "You mean Thorfinn Rowle?"

Graihagh glanced at Milo, who still had his head in his hands. Fynn had already left Hogwarts when the botched attack happened, and she knew Milo hadn't told them about it.

"Something happened while we were at school," she said, hoping Fynn didn't ask too many questions. "We got him expelled and he never really got over it. He tried to attack us once when we were in London. And then the little shit nearly killed Muggle and got sent to Azkaban."

"So you think he's going to come after you again?"

"Maybe. I don't know. With this war going on it would be so easy..."

Fynn put a hand to Milo's shoulder. "Well, you know how it is with people like him. He'll be back in Azkaban before long."

Graihagh doubted it. "He might not if he joins the Death Eaters."

Fynn shot her an _I can't believe you _look and nodded towards Milo, who looked stricken. Graihagh shut up.

Fynn leaned in so close to Milo their heads were touching."You could stay with me, if you want." Milo didn't say anything to this and Fynn sat up and looked at Graihagh. "I mean, you both could. I used to do security for the Ministry, I know all kinds of spells. I can put some defensive charms round my flat, Disillusion you every morning. Walk you to work and back."

Graihagh was sort of relieved at the idea, but she didn't like to be in anyone's debt, and neither, she knew, did Milo. "Yeah. We'll think about it."

Fynn squeezed Milo's shoulder and stood up. "I'll put an anti-Intruder jinx on your flat on my way out, yeah? That should help. And I could walk you to work tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah, thanks," said Milo, voice muffled by his hands.

"Try not to worry too much. It'll be alright."

Graihagh followed Fynn to the door and locked it behind them, checking the lock three times before she was satisfied. She walked over the windows and shut the curtains tight, knowing she wasn't going to sleep much that night.


End file.
